| Hunt and Lee, comps. The Book of the Sonnet. 1867. | | | | III. To Jenny Lind | | By Henry Theodore Tuckerman (1813–1871) |
| | | A MELODY with Southern passion fraught | |
| I hear thee warble: ’t is as if a bird | |
| By intuition human strains had caught, | |
| But whose pure breast no kindred feeling stirred: | |
| Thy native song the hushed arena fills, | 5 |
| So wildly plaintive that I seem to stand | |
| Alone, and see, from off the circling hills, | |
| The bright horizon of the North expand! | |
| High art is thus intact; and matchless skill | |
| Born of intelligence and self-control,— | 10 |
| The graduated tone and perfect trill | |
| Prove a restrained, but not a frigid soul; | |
| Thine finds expression in such generous deeds, | |
| That music from thy lips for human sorrow pleads! | | | | |
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