 | Poems by Maurice Thompson |  |
210
THE GOLD-BIRD.
The gold-bird came in the May morn
Down fragrant billows of southwest weather:
He fell, like a flame, in the sweet thorn,—
He and his brown mate close together.
Down fragrant billows of southwest weather:
He fell, like a flame, in the sweet thorn,—
He and his brown mate close together.
This was the promise of May-time;
Wind-song and bird-song sweetly flowing
Over the thorn, like a love-rhyme,
Where buds were breaking and flowers were blowing.
Wind-song and bird-song sweetly flowing
Over the thorn, like a love-rhyme,
Where buds were breaking and flowers were blowing.
The gold-bird sang to his brown mate
A song no words of mine may render,
While she built a nest in the sweet thorn,
In the dusky deeps of the thorn leaves tender.
A song no words of mine may render,
While she built a nest in the sweet thorn,
In the dusky deeps of the thorn leaves tender.
This was the joy of the May-time:
A bird like a flame and a love like fire,
The weather set to a soft tune
Thrilled and filled with pure desire.
A bird like a flame and a love like fire,
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Thrilled and filled with pure desire.
The gold-bird sat by his brown mate,
Brooding their young through the drowsy weather,
And when June came with its red heat
The birds and their brood flew off together.
Brooding their young through the drowsy weather,
And when June came with its red heat
The birds and their brood flew off together.
O sweet fulfillment of May-time!
A gold-bird, a brown mate, a nest and fruition
Of all the joys of a love-song!
This was the whole of the gold-bird's mission.
A gold-bird, a brown mate, a nest and fruition
Of all the joys of a love-song!
This was the whole of the gold-bird's mission.
| Poems by Maurice Thompson | |