human
Take, my bird, O take some other Eve than this to twitter gay! Sayeth, prayeth Mona's mother, To the slender-throated swallow On her nest of sticks and clay; For her sad eyes needs must follow Down the misty, mint-sweet hollow, Where the ruby colors play With the gold, and with the gray.
gpt
Yet, my little Lady-feather, You do well to sit and sing, Crieth, sigheth Mona's mother.
human
If you would, you could no other. Can the leaf fail with the spring? Can the tendril stay from twining When the sap begins to run? Or the dew-drop keep from shining With her body full o' the sun? Nor can you, from gladness, either; Therefore, you do well to sing. Up and o'er the downy lining Of your bird-bed I can see Two round little heads together, Pushed out softly through your wing. But alas! my bird, for me!