Kingfisher, whence cometh it
That you perch here, collected and fine,
On a dead willow alit
Instead of a sea-watching pine?
Are you content to resign
The windy, tall cliffs, and the fret
Of the rocks in the free-smelling brine?
Or, Kingfisher, do you forget?
Here do you chatter and flit
Where bowering branches entwine,
Of Ceyx not mindful a whit,
And that terrible anguish of thine?
Can it be that you never repine?
Aren't you Alcyone yet?
Eager only on minnows to dine,
O Kingfisher, how you forget!
To yon hole in the bank is it fit
That your bone-woven nest you consign,
And the ship-wrecking tempests permit
For lack of your presence benign?
With your name for a pledge and a sign
Of seas calmed and storms assuaged set
By John Milton, the vast, the divine,
O Kingfisher, still you forget.
ENVOI.
But here's a reminder of mine,
And perhaps the last you will get;
So, what's due your illustrious line
Now, Kingfisher, do not forget.
