My Doves by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

My little doves have left a nest
Upon an Indian tree,
Whose leaves fantastic take their rest
Or motion from the sea;
For, ever there the sea-winds go
With sunlit paces to and fro.

The tropic flowers looked up to it.
The tropic stars looked down,
And there my little doves did sit
With feathers soft and brown,
And glittering eyes that showed their right
To general Nature’s deep delight.

My little doves were ta’en away
From that glad nest of theirs,
Across an ocean rolling grey,
And tempest-clouded airs.
My little doves who lately knew
The sky and wave by warmth and blue.

And now, within the city prison
In mist and chillness pent,
With sudden upward look their listen
For sounds of past content,
For lapse of water, smell of breeze,
Or nut-fruit falling from the trees.