All overgrown by cunning moss,
   All interspersed with weed,
 The little cage of "Currer Bell"
   In quiet "Haworth" laid.

This Bird -- observing others
   When frosts too sharp became
 Retire to other latitudes --
   Quietly did the same --

But differed in returning --
   Since Yorkshire hills are green --
 Yet not in all the nests I meet --
   Can Nightengale be seen --