Morns like these – we parted.
Noons like these – she rose
Fluttering first – then firmer –
To her fair repose.
Never did she lisp it –
And t’was not for me –
She was mute from transport –
I – from agony –
Till – the evening nearing –
One the Curtains drew –
Quick! A sharper rustling!
And this Linnet flew!