Lines, Addressed To A Young Lady, Fond Of Singing Poem by Robert Anderson

Sweet is the screech--owl's harshest note,
Compar'd with murm'rings from thy throat;
Grimalkin's voice seems music quite,
That breaks the silence of the night;
The prowling wolf that chides the moon,
Yells not a more discordant tune;
The croaking of the toad is sweet,
Compar'd with what thou think'st a treat;
Yes, with more pleasure, I could hear
The growling of a hungry bear,
And sooner far the brute would be,
Than forc'd to sit and listen thee!