A Bird Sings in My Heart

A BIRD sings in the garden of my heart,

And all day long I hear its carol clear;

At night it folds its gentle wings so near,

Its tender pulsings stir my blood and start

The tears within my eyes to think Love’s art

Should stay her wings with me and make so dear

The rude wild bowers of my demesne, nor fear

But she should find her spirit’s counterpart.

All day I go resolved and thinking how

To make more sweet for her that garden place;

How I will pluck away the weeds, the rose

Of Love to plant there for her nesting-bough;

How I will school my heart to every grace

That it may be her home, her one repose.