The Goldfinch

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The Goldfinch

When dandelions star the fields
Another alien singer, I,
Nursed upon England’s flowery wealds,
Seeking no tithe of treasured yields,
Drop sudden from a summer sky
To where the spangled clearing spills
Its gold about your timbered hills.

A mite in splendid motley clad,
I mark the field, I know the hour
When choicest morsels may be had;
When blooms are gay, when days are glad,
And thistledown wafts in a shower
To dance and drift and disappear,
I, who was not, am with you here.

I cling beside the thistle head,
I dance about your cattle’s feet,
I revel in the banquet spread
By many a blazing yellow bed,
And feast until I am replete;
Then seek the house roof’s topmost tile
To linger yet a little while.

No ingrate I, no niggard churl —
Tho’ what I take you well may spare —
Ere azure skies have grown to pearl,
With many a grace-note, many a skirl,
I pay gold coin for golden fare,
And profer an abundant fee
In long sweet bursts of melody.

By: C J Dennis, Poet & Journalist was born in Auburn, South Australia, on 7 September 1876.

13 thoughts on “The Goldfinch

  1. Lovely photograph! My parents have many goldfinches in their garden in the UK. But they look nothing like the ones we see here in the US. Another transatlantic ‘same but different’ moment. šŸ™‚

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