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| BLITHE playmate of the Summer time, | |
| Admiringly I greet thee; | |
| Born in old England’s misty clime, | |
| I scarcely hoped to meet thee. | |
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| Com’st thou from forest of Peru, | 5 |
| Or from Brazil’s savannahs, | |
| Where flowers of every dazzling hue | |
| Flaunt, gorgeous as Sultanas? | |
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| Thou scannest me with doubtful gaze, | |
| Suspicious little stranger! | 10 |
| Fear not, thy burnished wings may blaze | |
| Secure from harm or danger. | |
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| Now here, now there, thy flash is seen, | |
| Like some stray sunbeam darting, | |
| With scarce a second’s space between | 15 |
| Its coming and departing. | |
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| Mate of the bird that lives sublime | |
| In Pat’s immortal blunder, | |
| Spied in two places at a time, | |
| Thou challengest our wonder. | 20 |
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| Suspended by thy slender bill, | |
| Sweet blooms thou lov’st to rifle; | |
| The subtle perfumes they distil | |
| Might well thy being stifle. | |
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| Surely the honey-dew of flowers | 25 |
| Is slightly alcoholic, | |
| Or why, through burning August hours, | |
| Dost thou pursue thy frolic? | |
| |
| What though thy throatlet never rings | |
| With music, soft or stirring; | 30 |
| Still, like a spinning-wheel, thy wings | |
| Incessantly are whirring. | |
| |
| How dearly I would love to see | |
| Thy tiny cara sposa, | |
| As full of sensibility | 35 |
| As any coy mimosa! | |
| |
| They say, when hunters track her nest, | |
| Where two warm pearls are lying, | |
| She boldly fights, though sore distrest, | |
| And sends the brigands flying. | 40 |
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| What dainty epithets thy tribes | |
| Have won from men of science! | |
| Pedantic and poetic scribes | |
| For once are in alliance. | |
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| Crested Coquette, and Azure Crown, | 45 |
| Sun Jewel, Ruby-Throated, | |
| With Flaming Topaz, Crimson Down, | |
| Are names that may be quoted. | |
| |
| Such titles aim to paint the hues | |
| That on the darlings glitter, | 50 |
| And were we for a week to muse, | |
| We scarce could light on fitter. | |
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| Farewell, bright bird! I envy thee, | |
| Gay rainbow-tinted rover; | |
| Would that my life, like thine, were free | 55 |
| From care till all is over! | |
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