Mopsa the Fairy :: :: University of Virginia Library

The marten flew to the finch's nest,
Feathers, and moss, and a wisp of hay:
‘The arrow it sped to thy brown mate's breast;
Low in the broom is thy mate to-day.’

146

‘Liest thou low, love? low in the broom?
Feathers and moss, and a wisp of hay,
Warm the white eggs till I learn his doom.’
She beateth her wings, and away, away.

‘Ah, my sweet singer, thy days are told
(Feathers and moss, and a wisp of hay)!
Thine eyes are dim, and the eggs grow cold.
O mournful morrow! O dark to-day!’

The finch flew back to her cold, cold nest,
Feathers and moss, and a wisp of hay.
Mine is the trouble that rent her breast,
And home is silent, and love is clay.