Snow-bound in woodland, a mournful word,

Dropt now and then from the bill of a bird,

Reached me on wind-wafts; and thus I heard,

   Wearily waiting:—

“I planned her a nest in a leafless tree,

But the passers eyed and twitted me,

And said: ‘How reckless a bird is he,

   Cheerily mating!’

“Fear-filled, I stayed me till summer-tide,

In lewth of leaves to throne her bride;

But alas! her love for me waned and died,

   Wearily waiting.

“Ah, had I been like some I see,

Born to an evergreen nesting-tree,

None had eyed and twitted me,

   Cheerily mating!”


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