THE SAD YEARS
MIGRATORY BIRDS (Continued)
To the soft, song-laden wind
Leant in hope and half in fear,
One low perfect note to find
In the joyous tumult here.
There's no bird upon the wing,
There's no fledgeling in the nest,
There's no song where others sing
More glorious than the rest.
Is he caged without release
Who makes all lovely things to be?
What holds the gentle bird of Peace,
God's hand, or human frailty?
[78]
