As a shy bird that startled from her nest
Wings her far way into the highest blue,
Nor dreams that she has left us any clue
To find which elm tree had been loved the best;
Though all the while its light boughs, fluttering
In the deep noonday silence, softly beat
Their soundless echoes to her flying feet
Now swiftly in the blue air vanishing:—
So haply you would keep a secret, dear,
Your unseen presence in my little room,