Page:Romance of the Rose (Ellis), volume 1.pdf/51

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Had made, and plenteous measure he

Of thanks had won who showed to me

How, helped by steps or ladder tall,

My feet might scale the high-built wall.

O joy of joys! O dear delight,

If ’twere but given to me that height

To climb, and such sweet joyance win

As surely might be found therein.

This garden was a safe retreat

For hosts of nesting birds, and sweet

Their piping sounded from the trees,

The glory of the place; the breeze

Was redolent of woodland song,

Nor shall I be convict of wrong

In saying that it shields perchance

Three times as many birds as France

Contains elsewhere. The harmony

Thereof could scarcely fail to be

Such as would cheer the saddest wight,

And wake his soul to sweet delight.

To me more boundless was the pleasure

To hear those songs than words may mea­sure.

And fain had I an hundred pounds

Paid straight to win within the bounds,

And see the gathered cloud of these

Sweet birds (God save them!) in the trees,

And list their tireless minstrelsy,

Which e’en love’s dancing tunes outvie,

All piping clear, from untaught throats.

In ever varying wilding notes.

While hearkening to the matin chant

The small fowl sang, my soul a-pant