From their foreign land and precious,
From their nest in green, I took
Red-plumed birds; and then I closed them
In a cage of woven gold.

And the cage of woven gold
Then became a second nest;
On our shores the birds have found
A new, precious fatherland.

Softly here they shake their feathers;
Swiftly sing of worlds and souls
Deep and spacious; or they mingle

Lightning-like their tears and smiles.
And though small and as of coral,
Yet they sing with accents loud.

1896.