Poems (Osgood)/The Flower and the Humming-Bird

by Frances Sargent Osgood

THE FLOWER AND HUMMING-BIRD.

Wild and light as a fawn in flight,
 With the glee and the grace of a playful child,
She tripp'd to the hill's unclouded height,
 And the dying day around her smiled.

Sunbeam and breeze were at play with her hair,
 (Where a few wild blossoms were braided low,)
Wooing it back from her shoulders fair,
 Lighting it up with a golden glow.

And lo! as we gazed on the beautiful girl
 With the joy that we ever from grace derive,
We saw something quiver thro' one soft curl,
 And struggle and gleam like a jewel alive!

What can it be? For a moment or two
 It burn'd with a brilliant ruby-ray,
The next, it shone with the sapphire's blue,
 And now with the amethyst's purple play!

What can it be? It is changing still
 To an emerald tint—to the sunshine's glow—
Can the maiden alter her gems at will?
 And gift with wings each luminous show?

With wings—they are fluttering, tiny, and light,
 Like those which we fancy the fairies wear—
Ah! look! the treasure has taken flight,
 'Twas a humming-bird caught in that golden snare!

Silly rover! you fly from those silken rings,
 Where Love—a light prisoner—hugs his chain!
Oh, you never will shut your shining wings
 On a flower so rare and sweet again!