WVA-The Poet and the Caged Turtledove

The Poet and the Caged Turtledove

As often as I murmur here
  My half-formed melodies,
Straight from her osier mansion near,
  The Turtledove replies:
Though silent as a leaf before,
  The captive promptly coos;
Is it to teach her own soft lore,
  Or second my weak Muse?

I rather think, the gentle Dove
  Is murmuring a reproof,
Displeased that I from lays of love
  Have dared to keep aloof;
That I, a Bard of hill and dale,
  Have caroll'd, fancy free,
As if nor dove nor nightingale,
  Had heart or voice for me.

If such thy meaning, O forbear,
  Sweet Bird! to do me wrong;
Love, blessed Love, is every where
  The spirit of my song:
'Mid grove, and by the calm fireside,
  Love animates my lyre;
That coo again!--'tis not to chide,
  I feel, but to inspire.