Poems (Hardy)/The little gray bird

by Irenè Hardy

THE LITTLE GRAY BIRD

O LITTLE gray bird in the dell,
 All ashen gray and sweet and fine,
Your looks have pleased me passing well,—
 Your taste in dress is just like mine,

For Ellen's dress is ashen gray,
 And she is sweet and small and fine;
But there resemblance must give way,
 For you are not, and she is, mine.

I hear you sing; you do it well;
 I should have called your singing fine,
But Ellen's songs can weave a spell
 That yours must lack, for she is mine.

Yet could I snare you in my hand
 And so enslave your body fine—
Blithe little bird, dost understand?
 I could not love what so was mine.

Yet could I coax you with a word,
 To give to me your presence fine,
I doubt myself and much, wee bird,
 If I could love what so were mine.

Yet were you Ellen, tender, true,
 As you are you, and small and fine,
My life, my love would turn to you
 As now to her, for she is mine.