Sonnet XXIX

Appoggiaturas, mordents, trills adorn
The unaccompanied melody of birds.
Combined, their voices mingle in the fugue
Of nature, so majestic, but also so forlorn.

As simple as the calls of joyous birds,
Our world contains such loveliness;
Obstructed now by human barricades.
However, still, there’s time to save our earth.

Reflecting back on songs of birds, I think
There’s nothing lovelier than nature’s own
And in my heart, a little envy grows
Because my art’s confined to human means.

Oh! What artists birds do seem to be!
They sing without a care so naturally.