Pensive They Sit, And Roll Their Languid

Sometimes Goldfinches One By One Will Drop From Low Hung Branches; Little Space They Stop; But Sip, And Twitter, And Their Feathers Sleek; Then Off At Once, As In A Wanton Freak: Or Perhaps, To Show Their Black, And Golden Wings Pausing Upon Their Yellow Flutterings.

Philosophy Will Clip An Angel's Wings.

Music's Golden Tongue Flatter'd To Tears This Aged Man And Poor.

I Will Imagine You Venus Tonight And Pray, Pray, Pray To Your Star Like A Heathen.

They Swayed About Upon A Rocking Horse, And Thought It Pegasus.