I heard a Stock-dove sing or say
His homely tale, this very day;
His voice was buried among trees,
Yet to be come at by the breeze:
He did not cease; but cooed--and cooed:
And somewhat pensively he wooed:
He sang of love, with quiet blending,
Slow to begin, and never ending;
Of serious faith, and inward glee;
That was the song,--the song for me!
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Not half so swift the trembling doves can fly,
When the fierce eagle cleaves the liquid sky;
read more
Not half so swift the trembling doves can fly,
When the fierce eagle cleaves the liquid sky;
Not half so swiftly the fierce eagle moves,
When thro' the clouds he drives the trembling doves.
We roar all like bears, and mourn sore like doves: we look for
judgment, but there is none: for read more
We roar all like bears, and mourn sore like doves: we look for
judgment, but there is none: for salvation, but it is far off
from us.
Listen, sweet Dove, unto my song,
And spread thy golden wings in me;
Hatching my tender heart read more
Listen, sweet Dove, unto my song,
And spread thy golden wings in me;
Hatching my tender heart so long,
Till it get wing, and flie away with Thee.
Anon, as patient as the female dove
When that her golden couplets are disclosed,
His silence will read more
Anon, as patient as the female dove
When that her golden couplets are disclosed,
His silence will sit drooping.
As when the dove returning bore the mark
Of earth restored to the long labouring ark;
The read more
As when the dove returning bore the mark
Of earth restored to the long labouring ark;
The relics of mankind, secure at rest,
Open every window to receive the guest,
And the fair bearer of the message bless'd.
And there my little doves did sit
With feathers softly brown
And glittering eyes that showed their read more
And there my little doves did sit
With feathers softly brown
And glittering eyes that showed their right
To general Nature's deep delight.
The Dove,
On silver pinions, winged her peaceful way.
The Dove,
On silver pinions, winged her peaceful way.
And oft I heard the tender dove
In firry woodlands making moan.
And oft I heard the tender dove
In firry woodlands making moan.
As the hawk is wont to pursue the trembling doves.
[Lat., Ut solet accipiter trepidas agitare columbas.]
As the hawk is wont to pursue the trembling doves.
[Lat., Ut solet accipiter trepidas agitare columbas.]
