THE WILD DUCK’S NEST
THE imperial Consort of the Fairy-king Owns not a sylvan bower; or gorgeous cell With emerald floored, and with purpureal shell Ceilinged and roofed; that is so fair a thing As this low structure, for the tasks of Spring, Prepared by one who loves the buoyant swell Of the brisk waves, yet here consents to dwell; And spreads in steadfast peace her brooding wing. Words cannot paint the o’ershadowing yew-tree bough, And dimly-gleaming Nest,–a hollow crown 10 Of golden leaves inlaid with silver down, Fine as the mother’s softest plumes allow: I gazed–and, self-accused while gazing, sighed For human-kind, weak slaves of cumbrous pride! 1819.