To My Toy Canary

Wee saffron sage,
Make-believe bird, fluffy, absurd,
In mimic cage
Through beady eyes you scrutinize
A Noisy Age.

You boast no “Tree,”
No painted shell your Natal Cell,
Your Pedigree,
Neatly displayed, reads simply, “Made
In Germany.”

What do I care
Tho’ to fresh seed you pay no heed—
Since on Plain Air
You gayly feast? Of that at least
I have to spare.

You do not pour
From your wide bill a gladsome trill,
Thanks be, therefore!
The best of tune, repeated, soon
Becomes a bore!

You simply stare
When I exclaim “Wilhelm” (your name);
You do not care
For William Hohenzollern, tho’
His name you bear.

What would you say
If William the Unsilent, he
Should come your way?
And fume, and pout, and storm—and shout,
“Lèse-Majesté!”

’Twould vex his pride
To see you hold that Gift of Gold
To him denied—
“Silence,” the sole and only rôle
He has not tried.

Fear not his grim,
Imperial ire; no torture dire,
No dungeon dim,
Your fate shall be: This land is free—
At least from him.

Wee saffron sage,
Pipe all day long your silent song
While by your cage,
Musing, I let my soul forget
The Noisy Age.