When sudden thoughts of thee surprise my soul,
As the swift bluebird's flight amid the green,
Or 'neath black clouds the flaming oriole,
Or as the lark's sweet song, when, nothing seen,
Down-dropping gently from the heavens like dew,
It rouses in the breast a tender hope,
Or as the full bird-choir, when eve is new,
Bursts on my ears if I the casement ope,
Then do I long for skill to fabricate
A golden sonnet-cage, and capturing these,
While they pass swiftly through the windy gate
Of thought, that, swinging free with every breeze,
Shuts in the twilight past with memory,
Send them, sweet tuneful prisoners, to thee.