bird on sudden, as I write,
Through open door in eager flight
Seeks refuge from a falcon's talons,
Upon my breast, in its fearful plight.
Slight bird and dark in olive green,
With yellow throat, thy living sheen
Doth come and go with thy heart's throbbing,—
Safe, safe art thou from his talons keen!
I am as God to thee, poor thing!
Now take thee to thy heaven and sing
A virelay for thy deliverance,
Sweet vireo of the olive wing!
resh sprig of greenest southernwood,
Thou call'st me back to my childhood!
Thy aromatic odors waken
A thousand echoes. I hear the good
Old man of God, long-haired and tall,
In the old church, to great and small,
His lightning message give, and listen
The echoing thunder that rolled o'er all.
The tiny child twirls oft its spray
Of southernwood,—'tis a far day,
Yet fresh I smell the keen aroma,