The Faithful Bird.

A poem by William Cowper

The greenhouse is my summer seat;
My shrubs displaced from that retreat
Enjoy’d the open air;
Two goldfinches, whose sprightly song
Had been their mutual solace long,
Lived happy prisoners there.


They sang as blithe as finches sing,
That flutter loose on golden wing,
And frolic where they list;
Strangers to liberty, ‘tis true,
But that delight they never knew,
And therefore never miss’d.


But nature works in every breast,
With force not easily suppress’d;
And Dick felt some desires,
That, after many an effort vain,
Instructed him at length to gain
A pass between his wires.


The open windows seem’d to invite
The freeman to a farewell flight;
But Tom was still confined;
And Dick, although his way was clear,
Was much too generous and sincere
To leave his friend behind.


So settling on his cage, by play,
And chirp, and kiss, he seem’d to say,
You must not live alone—
Nor would he quit that chosen stand
Till I, with slow and cautious hand,
Return’d him to his own.


O ye, who never taste the joys
Of Friendship, satisfied with noise
Fandango, ball, and rout!
Blush when I tell you how a bird
A prison with a friend preferr’d
To liberty without.

Reader Comments

Tell us what you think of 'The Faithful Bird.' by William Cowper

comments powered by Disqus

Home | Search | About this website | Contact | Privacy Policy