Little bird! O little bird!
I wonder at what thou doest,
Thou singing merry far from me,
I in sadness all alone!
Little bird! O little bird!
I wonder at how thou art
Thou high on the tips of branching
boughs,
I on the ground a-creeping!
Little bird! O little bird!
Thou art music far away,
Like the tender croon of the
mother loved
In the kindly sleep of death.
A Celtic Poem
No comments:
Post a Comment