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1817–1907

TO THE HUMMING BIRD.

Thomas Cowherd

Hail to thee, Humming Bird Beauteous and bright, That flitt'st like a spirit Before my rapt sight!

I bid thee a welcome To sip from my flowers The rich, honied produce Of sunshiny hours.

O, be not so easily Moved to depart! Thy presence is cheering To my saddened heart.

Thine shall be the treasures Of clove-currant trees And bells of the Columbine Prized by the Bees.

My odorous tulips I will with thee share, Nor grudge thee the blossoms Of apple or pear.

The sweet-scented woodbine I shall not withhold, Nor rare perfumed lilies, Like pure burnished gold.

O then, pretty Humming Bird, Stay thou with me, Midst bright blushing roses So charming to see.

I'll hail thee at morning Or woo thee at noon — Thy presence at all times Regard as a boon.

Then why be so anxious My garden to leave? Know'st thou that I never Attempt to deceive?

I would not confine thee In cage if I could: I glory in Freedom — The best earthly good.

Then, Humming Bird, listen My earnest appeal; The love I have for thee I cannot conceal.

My children, too, love thee, My wife does the same, And I am in transports At sound of thy name.

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TO THE HUMMING BIRD. · Thomas Cowherd · Poetry Cove