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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=357951" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Lyre-Tailed Menura</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Far in the forest depths I dwell,<br>The master mimic of them all,<br>To pour from out my secret dell<br>Echo of many a bushland call,<br>That over all the forest spills;<br>Echo of many a birdland note,<br>When out about the timbered hills<br>Sounds all that borrowed lore that fills<br>My magic throat.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I am the artist. Songs to me<br>From all this gay green land are sped;<br>And when the wondrous canopy<br> Of my great, fronded tail is spread-<br>A glorious veil, at even's hush-<br>Above my head, I do my part;<br>Then wren and robin, finch and thrush-<br>All are re-echoed in a rush<br>Of perfect art.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Here by my regal throne of state,<br>To serve me for a swift retreat,<br>The little runways radiate;<br>And when the tread of alien feet<br>Draws near I vanish: ever prone<br>To quick alarm when aught offends<br>That secret ritual of the throne.<br>My songs are for my mate alone,<br>And favoured friends.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I am the artist. None may find,<br>In all the world, a match for me:<br>Rare feathered loveliness combined<br>With such enchanting minstrelsy.<br>In a land vocal with gay song<br>I choose whate'er I may require;<br>I wait, I listen all day long,<br>Then to the music of a throng<br>I tune my lyre.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Clarence+Michael+James+Stanislaus+Dennis">Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=357951" data-title="The Lyre-Tailed Menura de Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis" data-description="Far in the forest depths I dwell,
The master mimic of them all,
To pour from out my secret dell
Echo of many a bushland call,
That over all the forest spills;
Echo of many a birdland note,
When out about the timbered hills
Sounds all that borrowed..."></div>
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