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And
as
the
little
stork
that
lifts
its
wing
With
a
desire
to
fly
,
and
does
not
venture
To
leave
the
nest
,
and
lets
it
downward
droop
,
Even
such
was
I
,
with
the
desire
of
asking
Kindled
and
quenched
,
unto
the
motion
coming
He
makes
who
doth
address
himself
to
speak
.
Not
for
our
pace
,
though
rapid
it
might
be
,
My
father
sweet
forbore
,
but
said
:
"
Let
fly
The
bow
of
speech
thou
to
the
barb
hast
drawn
.
"
With
confidence
I
opened
then
my
mouth
,
