To An Oriole

By Edgar Fawcett

How falls it, oriole, thou hast come to fly
In tropic splendor through our Northern sky?
At some glad moment was it nature’s choice
To dower a scrap of sunset with a voice?
At some glad moment was it nature’s choice
To dower a scrap of sunset with a voice?
Yearning toward Heaven until its wish was heard,
Desire unspeakably to be a bird?

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