SHE fluted with her mouth as when one sips, <br />And gently waved her golden head, inclin'd <br />Outside his cage close to the window-blind; <br />Till her fond bird, with little turns and dips, <br />Piped low to her of sweet companionships. <br />And when he made an end, some seed took she <br />And fed him from her tongue, which rosily <br />Peeped as a piercing bud between her lips. <br />And like the child in Chaucer, on whose tongue <br />The Blessed Mary laid, when he was dead, <br />A grain,—who straightway praised her name in song: <br />Even so, when she, a little lightly red, <br />Now turned on me and laughed, I heard the throng <br />Of inner voices praise her golden head.<br /><br />Dante Gabriel Rossetti<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/beauty-and-the-bird/
