If I were thou, O eagle proud,
And screamed the thunder back aloud,
And faced the lightning from the cloud;

I would not build my eyrie-throne,
As thou,—upon a crumbling stone,
Which the next storm may trample down.

If I were thou, O gallant steed,
With pawing hoof, and dancing head,
And eye outrunning thine own speed;

I would not meeken to the rein,
As thou,—nor smooth my nostril plain
From the glad desert's snort and strain.

If I were thou, red-breasted bird,
Whose song's at shut up window heard,
Like Love's sweet Yes too long deferred;

I would not overstay delight,
As thou,—but take a swallow-flight,
Till the new spring returned to sight.