BIRDS
Birds—birds, ye are beautiful things,
With your earth-treading feet and your cloud-cleaving wings;
Where shall man wander and where shall he dwell,
Beautiful birds, that ye come not as well?
Ye have nests on the mountains, all rugged and stark;
Ye have nests in the forest, all tangled and dark;
Ye build and ye brood ’neath the cottager’s eaves,
And ye sleep on the sod ’mid the bonny green leaves.