birds

The lonesome for they know not What –
The Eastern Exiles — be –
Who strayed beyond the Amber line
Some madder Holiday –

And ever since — the purple Moat
They strive to climb — in vain –
As Birds — that tumble from the clouds
Do fumble at the strain –

The Blessed Ether — taught them –
Some Transatlantic Morn –
When Heaven — was too common — to miss –
Too sure — to dote upon!

I shall keep singing!
Birds will pass me
On their way to Yellower Climes –
Each — with a Robin’s expectation –
I — with my Redbreast –
And my Rhymes –

Late — when I take my place in summer –
But — I shall bring a fuller tune –
Vespers — are sweeter than Matins — Signor –
Morning — only the seed of Noon –

I’m the little “Heart’s Ease”!
I don’t care for pouting skies!
If the Butterfly delay
Can I, therefore, stay away?

If the Coward Bumble Bee
In his chimney corner stay,
I, must resoluter be!
Who’ll apologize for me?

Dear, Old fashioned, little flower!
Eden is old fashioned, too!
Birds are antiquated fellows!
Heaven does not change her blue.
Nor will I, the little Heart’s Ease –
Ever be induced to do!

Mama never forgets her birds,
Though in another tree –
She looks down just as often
And just as tenderly
As when her little mortal nest
With cunning care she wove –
If either of her “sparrows fall,”
She “notices,” above.

Water, is taught by thirst.
Land — by the Oceans passed.
Transport — by throe –
Peace — by its battles told –
Love, by Memorial Mold –
Birds, by the Snow.

These are the days when Birds come back –
A very few — a Bird or two –
To take a backward look.

These are the days when skies resume
The old — old sophistries of June –
A blue and gold mistake.

Oh fraud that cannot cheat the Bee –
Almost thy plausibility
Induces my belief.

Till ranks of seeds their witness bear –
And softly thro’ the altered air
Hurries a timid leaf.

Oh Sacrament of summer days,
Oh Last Communion in the Haze –
Permit a child to join.

Thy sacred emblems to partake –
They consecrated bread to take
And thine immortal wine!

Some things that fly there be –
Birds — Hours — the Bumblebee –
Of these no Elegy.

Some things that stay there be –
Grief — Hills — Eternity –
Nor this behooveth me.

There are that resting, rise.
Can I expound the skies?
How still the Riddle lies!

The rainbow never tells me
That gust and storm are by,
Yet is she more convincing
Than Philosophy.

My flowers turn from Forums –
Yet eloquent declare
What Cato couldn’t prove me
Except the birds were here!