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At The Papyrus Club
By Oliver Wendell Holmes
A lovely show for eyes to see
I looked upon this morning, -
A bright-hued, feathered company
Of nature's own adorning;
But ah! those minstrels would not sing
A listening ear while I lent, -
The lark sat still and preened his wing,
The nightingale was silent;
I longed for what they gave me not -
Their warblings sweet and fluty,
But grateful still for all I got
I thanked them for their beauty.
A fairer vision meets my view
Of Claras, Margarets, Marys,
In silken robes of varied hue,
Like bluebirds and canaries;
The roses blush, the jewels gleam,
The silks and satins glisten,
The black eyes flash, the blue eyes beam,
We look - and then we listen
Behold the flock we cage to-night -
Was ever such a capture?
To see them is a pure delight;
To hear them - ah! what rapture!
Methinks I hear Delilah's laugh
At Samson bound in fetters;
"We captured!" shrieks each lovelier half,
"Men think themselves our betters!
We push the bolt, we turn the key
On warriors, poets, sages,
Too happy, all of them, to be
Locked in our golden cages!"
Beware! the boy with bandaged eyes
Has flung away his blinder;
He 's lost his mother - so he cries -
And here he knows he'll find her:
The rogue! 't is but a new device, -
Look out for flying arrows
Whene'er the birds of Paradise
Are perched amid the sparrows!
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