[ AT MORNING BEFORE SUNRISE .]

" The only things in the world awake,
And I for grief as for gladness you,
Let us be quiet. We should not shake
The beautiful dimness from the dew.

" It is early to you, to me it is late.
You rise in bloom toward the morning light;
I stand in the thorn's sharp shadow and wait
For strength to crawl away from the night.

" Oh, Bird, flush'd Bird, you can sing and fly.
For the song I hear and the wings I see,
I would give you — my soul and its share in the sky;
And I would be you and you should be me.

" They would tell my children their mother was dead.
" Never mind, she was tired and pale," they would say,
" BuThere is a Bird, so pretty and red,
" In your trees — — to cry might scare it away!" "