 | Poems at Home and Abroad |  |
65
The Blackbird Dead
Dead on the grass, and dead in spring,
With a nest half-built, what pitiful loss!
Look at his dress with its bridal gloss,
The soft grey satin of underwing;
With a nest half-built, what pitiful loss!
Look at his dress with its bridal gloss,
The soft grey satin of underwing;
The purple eye with its rim of gold,
The glow and gleam of his amber beak;
He sang of his wedding all through the week—
Now one is unwedded, the other lies cold.
The glow and gleam of his amber beak;
He sang of his wedding all through the week—
Now one is unwedded, the other lies cold.
Ah! wild north wind from over the foam,
You have stolen the life from our April air,
You have hushed our morn and our evening prayer,
Robbed us of melody, saddened our home.
You have stolen the life from our April air,
You have hushed our morn and our evening prayer,
Robbed us of melody, saddened our home.
But at least you have left us one thing dear—
The brown little widow so sad in the shade;
And the bond of sorrow between us made
Has brought man's heart and the bird's heart near.
The brown little widow so sad in the shade;
And the bond of sorrow between us made
Has brought man's heart and the bird's heart near.
| Poems at Home and Abroad | |