TO A HUMMINGBIRD.

Voyager on golden air, Type of all that’s fleet and fair, Incarnate gem, Live diadem Bird-beam of the summer day,— Whither on your sunny way?

Loveliest of all lovely things, Roses open to your wings; Each gentle breast Would give you rest; Stay, forget lost Paradise, Star-bird fallen from happy skies.

Vanished! Earth is not his home; Onward, onward must he roam Swift passion-thought, In rapture wrought, Issue of the soul’s desire, Plumed with beauty and with fire. —John Vance Cheney.