On a Golden Finch
Oh, faery finch, whose golden form does climb
Athwart the starry bays of poesies, sweet,
I hear your voice, and drown in slumber’s clime,
As I sit, pond’ring in my woolen seat.
My quill spills no sweet word or sweeter song,
For my heart such cloyed passions cannot game,
And doubly more lies speechless my sore tongue,
And triply even more, my soul’s the same.
As hours pass, upon these pages, bare
I stare as if no passion stirs to fly.
To mount into Eutrepe’s mystic lair
I couldn’t, ‘till your tender lullaby
Had touched my ear, and from my breast awoke
Some passioned fire, hearing such sweet voice.
Of Heaven’s bells and Heaven’s harps. Out spoke
Your lilting charms which, magically employs
All of the Muse’s finest strengths and spells:
Eutrepe’s mystic hymn, Erato’s grace
And Calliope’s trance which softly swells
In finest verse, and in such verse does trace
Vast time. Oh, finch, were it not for your song
Nor for you visiting me, worn with age
No words would spill from out my stricken tongue
And writ wouldn’t be to you, my own homáge.
Gleb Zavlanov's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (On a Golden Finch by Gleb Zavlanov )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
William Ernest Henley
- Your, Umasree Raghunath
- coal on the asphalt, a mile away, Mandolyn ...
- Jostled here and there, Emmanuel George Cefai
- Over the seas Over the waves, Emmanuel George Cefai
- Reunion, Umasree Raghunath
- Over The Edge Over The Slippery Ledges, Emmanuel George Cefai
- World War One, P.D. Turner
- The Poet-Seer irresistible, Emmanuel George Cefai
- Slow Fast But sure, Emmanuel George Cefai
- My Mocking Jay, Aaron Waingrow