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Within My Garden, rides a Bird,
Upon a single Wheel--
Whose spokes a dizzy music make,
As 'twere a traveling mill--

He never stops, but slackens,
Above the Ripest Rose--
Partakes without alighting,
And praises as he goes,

Till every spice is tasted--
And then his Fairy Gig,
Reels in remoter atmospheres,
And I rejoin my Dog,

And He and I, perplex us,
If positive, 'twere we--
Or bore the Garden in the Brain,
This Curiosity--

But he, the best Logician,
Refers my clumsy eye--
To just vibrating blossoms!
An Exquisite Reply

Charles Dixons