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Come, summer visitant, attach To my reed roof your nest of clay, And let my ear your music catch Low twittering underneath the thatch At the gray dawn of day.

As fables tell, an Indian Sage, The Hindostani woods among, Could in his desert hermitage, As if 'twere mark'd in written page, Translate the wild bird's song.

I wish I did his power possess, That I might learn, fleet bird, from thee, What our vain systems only guess, And know from what wide wilderness You came across the sea.