 | The poems and stories of Fitz-James O'Brien |  |
III.
Yet still she sat, and, it may be, dreamed—
I hope so—until there suddenly seemed
To sweep through the room a rustle of wings,
With a tinkling as if of silver rings,
And then a low and a soaring song,
That every instant grew more strong.
She looked at wall and window and floor,
She peered through the gloom at the crazy door;
Nothing was visible anywhere,
Yet still the song was thrilling the air;
Then she turned her eyes to the table of pine,
And saw something shiver and dimly shine;
And lo! from the midst of the shreds of silk,
And the pearly buttons that shone like milk,
There came the song of the silver rings,
And the gleam and flutter of shining wings;
As up from the table the Sewing Bird sprang,
While singing it soared, and soaring it sang:—
I hope so—until there suddenly seemed
To sweep through the room a rustle of wings,
With a tinkling as if of silver rings,
92
That every instant grew more strong.
She looked at wall and window and floor,
She peered through the gloom at the crazy door;
Nothing was visible anywhere,
Yet still the song was thrilling the air;
Then she turned her eyes to the table of pine,
And saw something shiver and dimly shine;
And lo! from the midst of the shreds of silk,
And the pearly buttons that shone like milk,
There came the song of the silver rings,
And the gleam and flutter of shining wings;
As up from the table the Sewing Bird sprang,
While singing it soared, and soaring it sang:—
“Follow me up and follow me down,
Hither and thither, through all the town;
For there are lessons that must be taught,
And there are changes that must be wrought,
And there are wrongs that the world shall know,—
So follow, follow, where'er I go!”
Hither and thither, through all the town;
For there are lessons that must be taught,
And there are changes that must be wrought,
And there are wrongs that the world shall know,—
So follow, follow, where'er I go!”
| The poems and stories of Fitz-James O'Brien | |