Lindêlomîn Poem by Thomas Donnelly

Of all the winged things of yore
That graced the woods and valleys green
There are no tales recounted more
Than of the sweet Lindêlomîn.

Lindêlomîn, the wise men say,
Was blessed with gladness from her birth
Who in her nest woke every day
The gladdest child of the Earth.

Arrayed she was in tawny hue:
Disservice great to such a thing!
For vibrant song went where she flew
And joy like dew was on her wing.

And oft in sunshine or at night
One heard, like silver bells, her song
That rose to praise the morning light
And in the twilight lingered long.

She lived and died with simple glee
Who sang in ancient years gone by
Remembered through eternity
The happy maiden of the sky!