IF THOU COULDST BE A BIRD
If thou couldst be a bird, what bird wouldst thou be?
A frolicsome gull on the billowy sea,
Screaming and wailing when stormy winds rave,
Or anchored, white thing! on the merry green wave?
Or an eagle aloft in the blue ether dwelling,
Free of the caves of the lofty Helvellyn,
Who is up in the sunshine when we are in shower,
And could reach our loved ocean in less than an hour?
Or a stork on a mosque’s broken pillar in peace,
By some famous old stream in the bright land of Greece;
A sweet-mannered householder! waiving his state
Now and then, in some kind little toil for his mate?
Or a heath bird, that lies on the Cheviot moor,
Where the wet, shining earth is as bare as the floor;
Who mutters glad sounds, though his joys are but few—
Yellow moon, windy sunshine, and skies cold and blue?
Or, if thy man’s heart worketh in thee at all,
Perchance thou wouldst dwell by some bold baron’s hall;
A black, glossy rook, working early and late,
Like a laboring man on the baron’s estate?
Or a linnet, who builds in the close hawthorn bough,
Where her small, frightened eyes may be seen looking through;
Who heeds not, fond mother! the oxlips that shine
On the hedge banks beneath, or the glazed celandine?
Or a swallow that flieth the sunny world over,
The true home of spring and spring flowers to discover;
Who, go where he will, takes away on his wings
Good words from mankind for the bright thoughts he brings?
But what! can these pictures of strange winged mirth
Make the child to forget that she walks on the earth?
Dost thou feel at thy sides as though wings were to start
From some place where they lie folded up in thy heart?
Then love the green things in thy first simple youth,
The beasts, birds, and fishes, with heart and in truth,
And fancy shall pay thee thy love back in skill;
Thou shalt be all the birds of the air at thy will.
—F. W. Faber.