Snow-berries. A book for young folks :: :: University of Virginia Library

In the blithe and budding weather
Of an April-time of yore,
Two wild-birds sat together
In the peach-tree at my door.

And each was gayly furnished,
And in beauty all complete,
From the topknot brightly burnished
To the rosy little feet.

Now under shadows winging,
And now hopping forth to view,
To the other each was singing,—
Thus the prouder of the two,—

Thus only, “Pretty! Pretty!”
In a low, caressing strain,
While in answer, “Sweety! Sweety!”
Softly sounded back again.

The buds to flowers were starting,
And the young leaves came in sight,
While they stayed together courting
In the peach-tree; but one night

They vanished. Swift with duties
Ran the time into the past,
Till I found my truant beauties,
As I knew I should, at last.

Making tender, twittering hushes,
That were sweet as any words,
Flying in and out the bushes
With a flock of little birds.

The snow stayed all unmelted,
And the winds of winter beat
On the boughs that lately tilted
Under rosy little feet,

When I heard a bird thus crying,
From the cold and frozen ground,
To the mate above him flying,
Half-distracted, round and round:—

“My wings are stiff and sleety,
I am dying in my bed,—
I am dying, darling.” “Sweety.”
That was every thing she said.