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.
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It did not surprise me –
So I said — or thought –
She will stir her pinions
And the nest forgot,
Traverse broader forests –
Build in gayer boughs,
Breathe in Ear more modern
God’s old fashioned vows –
This was but a Birdling –
What and if it be
One within my bosom
Had departed me?
This was but a story –
What and if indeed
There were just such coffin
In the heart instead?