BY WILLIAM FALCONER.
———
Spent are thy wings, poor wanderer on the deep,
Minion of spring, frail wrestler with the breeze,
Led by young hope o’er ever-spreading seas
Where the wing’d storms their prowling vigils keep,
Mayhap ’twas thou that built thy clayey nest
Last springtide at my lattice arched with flowers—
Thy tiny wing that beat the morning hours
And woke my fair girl from her dewy rest.