OUE PETS. 1G9 



To lifeless intonation — 



The lonely monotone of springs, 



And winds, and such insensate things. 



My little doves were ta'en away 



From that glad nest of theirs, 



Across an ocean rolling gray. 



And tempest-clouded airs, 



My little doves— who lately knew 



The sky and wave by warmth and blue ! 



And now, within the city prison, 



In mist and chillness pent. 



With sudden upward look they listen 



For sounds of past content — 



For lapse of water, swell of breeze. 



Or nut-fruit falling from the trees. 



The stir without, the glow of passion, 



The triumph of the mart, 



The gold and silver as they clash «>n 



Man's cold metallic heart, 



The roar of wheels, the cry for bread — 



These only sounds are heaixl instead. 



Yet still, as on my human hand 



Their fearless heads they lean. 



And almost seem to understand 



"What human musings mean, 



(Their eyes, with such a plaintive shine. 



Are fasten'd upwardly to mine !) 



Soft falls their chant as on the nest 



Beneath the sunny zone ; 



For love, that stirr'd it in their breast. 



Has not a-weary grown. 



And 'neath the city's shade can keep 



The well of music clear and deep. 



