AMONG the dwellings framed by birds
In field or forest with nice care,
Is none that with the little Wren's
In snugness may compare.
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Rest, Mother-bird! and when thy young Take flight, and thou art free to roam, When withered is the guardian Flower, And empty thy late home...........A poet who could understand the language of birds.....10
too long boring annoying wired and well let me think horrible
This poem arouses intense passion and delight which is why i like it.
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