Golden Histories, etc By Wathen Mark Wilks Call |
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The Child and the Bird's Nest
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 | Golden Histories, etc |  |
255
The Child and the Bird's Nest
He saw it falling from the broken sprayOf the tall apple-tree that overhung
The hawthorn hedge, where its blithe tenant sung.
Hid in the vestal blossoms of the May.
Wrought of green moss and lichen red and gray,
This cincturing cell! No softer circle spread
Round the meek birds whom Lady Venus fed,
For Love still dwells among the birds they say!
Yes! take thy prize, white eggs faint-tinged with blue,
Whose spots, dark-centered, into purple run.
Yes! take thy prize, but yet a moment rue
The cruel wrong the ungracious winds have done.
And with mild sorrow shadowing all the sun,
Dear Child! to humble griefs and cares be true.
| Golden Histories, etc | |