Patrick Regan has kindly shared the material from his George Heath site with readers of the Victorian Web, who may wish to consult the original.
Thou hast sugar, and water, and seeds
Sufficient for all thy needs,
O birdie! and sweet is thy song,
And grateful thy music to me;
Yet I would, O I would thou wert free,
And dancing the glad world among;
For 'tis sad as the seasons go by
To have never a glimpse of the sky,
And never a mate in the woods;
Ne'er a sweet honey-sip of the flowers,
Ne'er a fling 'mongst the winds and the flowers,
And never a glance o'er the floods.
'Tis sad to be circled with bars,
Though gilded, whose narrowness mars
The lustrous spread of the wing.
I, too, am a captive as thou;
Pain-prisoned and prison-bound now,
And all I can do is to sing.
Food, clothing, and all I may need
From the bounty of others proceed;
Dependent and useless am I.
I may not go dance on the hills,
Or drink the wild gladness that trills
The earth as the seasons go by.
Folk come to me, list to the flow
Of my carolings, pet me, and go
Forgetting their words, and I sigh.
My life hath no depth and no mirth;
I have not a place on the earth,
And ne'er a love under the sky.
Last modified 4 September 2002