Classic Poem

Poor restless Dove, I pity thee,
And when I hear thy plaintive moan
I'll mourn for thy captivity
And in thy woes forget mine own.

To see thee stand prepared to fly,
And flap those useless wings of thine,
And gaze into the distant sky
Would melt a harder heart than mine.

In vain! In vain! Thou canst not rise--
Thy prison roof confines thee there;
Its slender wires delude thine eyes,
And quench thy longing with despair.

O! thou wert made to wander free
In sunny mead and shady grove,
And far beyond the rolling sea
In distant climes at will to rove.

Yet hadst thou but one gentle mate
Thy little drooping heart to cheer
And share with thee thy captive state,
Thou could'st be happy even there.

Yes, even there, if listening by
One faithful dear companion stood,
While gazing on her full bright eye
Thou might'st forget thy native wood.

But thou, poor solitary dove,
Must make unheard thy joyless moan;
The heart that nature formed to love
Must pine neglected and alone.