GOLDFINCHES 225 



how unlike your gentle twittering this new sharpness 

 in your voice which wounds me! But I know the 

 cause too well! Fear not, dear bird, to alienate my 

 love — that I shall forget in this your rebellious 

 moment the charm that made you precious, and 

 charge you with ingratitude and in anger and disdain 

 thrust you from my sight. For what avails my 

 solicitude and affection — what does it matter that 

 with my own hands I supply you with food and drink 

 and a hundred delicate morsels besides; that with 

 my fingers I tenderly caress you; that I kiss you with 

 my lips ? It is nothing that you are dear to me, that 

 n.y chief delight is in listening to your sweet lively 

 trills and twitterings, since I am but your gaoler who 

 holds you from that free air which is your home and 

 the sweet mate you would be with! No, you cannot 

 be glad; nor is it possible you should not fear the 

 hand that ministers to your wants, since it is the same 

 hand that has cruelly hurt you and may hurt you again 

 with a yet closer, more barbarous confinement. 



Alas, I know your pain, for I too am a captive and 

 lament my destiny, and though the bonds that hold 

 me are woven with flowers I feel their weight and 

 they wound me none the less. Left an orphan early 

 in life, it was my fate to leave my home before 

 completing my seventeenth year, at the will of 

 others, to be a wife. He who took me was amiable 

 and more than kind to me. Like a brother, a friend, 

 a passionate lover, he protects, he honours, he worships 

 me, and in his house my will is law. But I have no 

 pleasure in it. His devotion, his gifts, are like mine 



