Whence, and what art thou? O thou beauteous little thing!
That like a dazzling sprite
Appearest in my sight,
Sipping from sweet flower-cups the honey stores of Spring.

I have sought for many days to find a proper word
As a fitter name for thee
More pleasing unto me,
But cannot find a better than that of Humming Bird.

True, I might thee call A Fluttering Ray of Light
Decked in prismatic hues,
Which a radiance diffuse
Just like a beam of glory straying from a Seraph bright.

Yea, I could picture thee as a new-born infant's soul,
Bidding adieu to Earth
A moment after birth,
But having love for flowers which it scarcely can control.

Or, I might describe thee as a precious, new-coined thought
Illumined by the Truth,
Always enjoying youth,
Till into Wisdom's Temple 'tis by its Builder wrought.

Yet, whatever thou may'st be, or howsoever called,
Thou'rt welcome to remain—
My garden sweets to drain,
And a lonely Vision be evermore enrolled.