Teach Him — When He makes the names –
Such an one — to say –
On his babbling — Berry — lips –
As should sound — to me –
Were my Ear — as near his nest –
As my thought — today –
As should sound –
“Forbid us not” –
Some like “Emily.”

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.

My River runs to thee –
Blue Sea! Wilt welcome me?
My River wait reply –
Oh Sea — look graciously –
I’ll fetch thee Brooks
From spotted nooks –
Say — Sea — Take Me!

A feather from the Whippoorwill
That everlasting — sings!
Whose galleries — are Sunrise –
Whose Opera — the Springs –
Whose Emerald Nest the Ages spin
Of mellow — murmuring thread –
Whose Beryl Egg, what Schoolboys hunt
In “Recess” — Overhead!

Musicians wrestle everywhere –
All day — among the crowded air
I hear the silver strife –
And — waking — long before the morn –
Such transport breaks upon the town
I think it that “New Life”!

If is not Bird — it has no nest –
Nor “Band” — in brass and scarlet — drest –
Nor Tamborin — nor Man –
It is not Hymn from pulpit read –
The “Morning Stars” the Treble led
On Time’s first Afternoon!

Some — say — it is “the Spheres” — at play!
Some say that bright Majority
Of vanished Dames — and Men!
Some — think it service in the place
Where we — with late — celestial face –
Please God — shall Ascertain!

Dust is the only Secret –
Death, the only One
You cannot find out all about
In his “native town.”

Nobody know “his Father” –
Never was a Boy –
Hadn’t any playmates,
Or “Early history” –

Industrious! Laconic!
Punctual! Sedate!
Bold as a Brigand!
Stiller than a Fleet!

Builds, like a Bird, too!
Christ robs the Nest –
Robin after Robin
Smuggled to Rest!

This heart that broke so long –
These feet that never flagged –
This faith that watched for star in vain,
Give gently to the dead –

Hound cannot overtake the Hare
That fluttered panting, here –
Nor any schoolboy rob the nest
Tenderness builded there.

For every Bird a Nest –
Wherefore in timid quest
Some little Wren goes seeking round –

Wherefore when boughs are free –
Households in every tree –
Pilgrim be found?

Perhaps a home too high –
Ah Aristocracy!
The little Wren desires –

Perhaps of twig so fine –
Of twine e’en superfine,
Her pride aspires –

The Lark is not ashamed
To build upon the ground
Her modest house –

Yet who of all the throng
Dancing around the sun
Does so rejoice?

Sexton! My Master’s sleeping here.
Pray lead me to his bed!
I came to build the Bird’s nest,
And sow the Early seed –

That when the snow creeps slowly
From off his chamber door –
Daisies point the way there –
And the Troubadour.

Her breast is fit for pearls,
But I was not a “Diver” –
Her brow is fit for thrones
But I have not a crest.
Her heart is fit for home –
I — a Sparrow — build there
Sweet of twigs and twine
My perennial nest.