 | The Poems of Selwyn Image |  |
107
THE BLACKBIRD'S BATH
Of all that haunt my garden plot,
Blackbird, on thee my choice!
Thou Beauty slim, sleek, dainty-stepped,
And unapproached in voice:
Blackbird, on thee my choice!
Thou Beauty slim, sleek, dainty-stepped,
And unapproached in voice:
Thy song it hails the break of dawn
Purer than sacring-bell;
And as day fades to evening-light
Thine the faint last farewell.
Purer than sacring-bell;
And as day fades to evening-light
Thine the faint last farewell.
The sun full up I watch thee trip
Swiftly across the green,
To where a bath I've set for thee
The grass and flowers between:
Swiftly across the green,
To where a bath I've set for thee
The grass and flowers between:
No Naiad by a classic stream
Combing her locks at morn
More glistering or more deftly poised
Than thou, I will be sworn:
Combing her locks at morn
More glistering or more deftly poised
Than thou, I will be sworn:
Ah! what a toilet! This way, that,
Arches thy supple neck
Broad outspread wings and breast to preen
Fair from last fault and fleck;
Arches thy supple neck
Broad outspread wings and breast to preen
Fair from last fault and fleck;
Or now, as a tremulous aspen, quivers
Thy whole harmonious form,
Luring the jocund sun-beams in,
Till once more thou art warm.
Thy whole harmonious form,
Luring the jocund sun-beams in,
Till once more thou art warm.
The dainty task complete at last!
Then one delicious trill,
Shy Songster of the sable coat
And of the golden bill,
Then one delicious trill,
108
And of the golden bill,
And off thou art back home to lurk
Amid the tree-boughs hidden,
Secure from sight as anchorite
Within his cell forbidden.
Amid the tree-boughs hidden,
Secure from sight as anchorite
Within his cell forbidden.
I hear thee rustle through the leaves
To greet thy nesting mate;
Yet for full glimpse of thee again
Vainly I search and wait:
To greet thy nesting mate;
Yet for full glimpse of thee again
Vainly I search and wait:
Beauty's true Child thou criest, “Enough,
“Fond mortal, that of grace
“Brief delicate moments of delight
“I grant thee or of sound or sight—
“But mine the hour and place!”
“Fond mortal, that of grace
“Brief delicate moments of delight
“I grant thee or of sound or sight—
“But mine the hour and place!”
1921.
| The Poems of Selwyn Image | |