WHEN I WAS A BIRD
I climbed up the karaka tree
Into a nest all made of leaves
But soft as feathers.
I made up a song that went on singing all by itself
And hadn’t any words, but got sad at the end.
There were daisies in the grass under the tree.
I said just to try them:
“I’ll bite off your heads and give them to my little children to eat.”
But they didn’t believe I was a bird;
They stayed quite open.
The sky was like a blue nest with white feathers
And the sun was the mother bird keeping it warm.
That’s what my song said: though it hadn’t any words.
Little Brother came up the patch, wheeling his barrow.
I made my dress into wings and kept very quiet.
Then when he was quite near I said: “Sweet, sweet!”
For a moment he looked quite startled;
Then he said: “Pooh, you’re not a bird; I can see your legs.”
But the daisies didn’t really matter,
And Little Brother didn’t really matter;
I felt just like a bird.
THE ARABIAN SHAWL
“It is cold outside, you will need a coat—
What! this old Arabian shawl!
Bind it about your head and throat,
These steps ... it is dark ... my hand ... you might fall.”
What has happened? What strange, sweet charm
Lingers about the Arabian shawl ...
Do not tremble so! There can be no harm
In just remembering—that is all.
“I love you so—I will be your wife,”
Here, in the dark of the Terrace wall,
Say it again. Let that other life
Fold us like the Arabian shawl.
“Do you remember?” ... “I quite forget,
Some childish foolishness, that is all,
To-night is the first time we have met ...
Let me take off my Arabian shawl!”