“BELOVED, HAST PERCEIVED A THROSTLE TUNE”

Belovëd, hast perceived a throstle tune His liberal wealth of song, ’Mid the leafy coverts, all a lucent noon, Where Audience none had he, yet, desolate, He fluted keen and strong Appreciated only by his mate? Even so sing I, sequestered and alone. No World’s large ear to woo My measures all upon thy feet are thrown. My Mate thou art, my single Audience thou, Thence never do I sue Vainly for plaudit: is not this enow? Ah, if that throstle glimpsed a Vision clear, A Vision seeming Truth; If unto him, from Life’s encrusting sphere, An iridescent Beauty had out-twirled, In yon sequestered booth How would he chafe his soul to reach the World!