High in the tree is an empty nest
Whence the fledgelings of yesterday are flown;
Hovers a bird in a vague unrest,
Wondering, it may be, and all alone.

Wondering, it may be, or East or West
Or South or North swept the wings untried,
Wondering over an empty nest
And the blue of the infinite sky, so wide.

High in the attic 's a trundle bed
Whence the child of a Yesterday is flown;
Hovers a woman, with tears unshed,
Wondering, it may be, and all alone.

Wondering, it may be, or East or West
Or South or North roams the youth untried,
Wondering over an empty nest,
And an empty heart;—and the world so wide!