  Sweet bird, whom the winter constrains— And seldom another it can— To seek a retreat—while he reigns In the well-shelter'd dwellings of man, Who never can seem to intrude, Though in all places equally free, Come, oft as the season is rude, Thou art sure to be welcome to me. At sight of the first feeble ray, That pierces the clouds of the east, To inveigle thee every day My windows shall show thee a feast. For, taught by experience, I know Thee mindful of benefit long; And that, thankful for all I bestow, Thou wilt pay me with many a song. Then, soon as the swell of the buds Bespeaks the renewal of spring, Fly hence, if thou wilt, to the woods, Or where it shall please thee to sing: And shouldst thou, compell'd by a frost, Come again to my window or door, Doubt not an affectionate host, Only pay, as thou pay'dst me before. Thus music must needs be confest To flow from a fountain above; Else how should it work in the breast Unchangeable friendship and love? And who on the globe can be found, Save your generation and ours, That can be delighted by sound, Or boasts any musical powers? —Cowper. |
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