t happens when the birds go by
And leave you far behind;
And you flutter, till you ache
All around your mind.—
Like a Flag,
Like a Flag
Flapping at the wind!
It happens when you catch the hills
As blue as yesterday;
You hold your heart in both your hands,
Or it would fly away.
Yes, it would!
Yes, it would!
Away—away—away!
It makes your heart into a Bird
That darts, and leaps, and sings.
—Oh, feel my pinafore, high up!—
Oh, do you think it's Wings?
Do you think—
Do you think—
Oh, couldn't it be Wings?
Early
like to lie and wait, to see
My Mother braid her hair.
It is as long as it can be,
And yet she doesn't care.
I love my Mother's hair.
And then the way her fingers go;
They look so quick and white,—
In and out, and to and fro,
And braiding in the light;
And it is always right.
So then she winds it, shiny brown,
Around her head into a crown,
Just like the day before.
And then she looks, and pats it down,
And looks, a minute more.—
While I stay here, all still and cool.
Oh, isn't Morning beautiful?