Poems (Piatt)/Volume 2/The First Red-Bird
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THE FIRST RED-BIRD.[AFTER THE BIRD-FAMINE OF 1880.]
Look at him there!—that lonesome tree might break
Quick into bees and blossoms for his sake.
Quick into bees and blossoms for his sake.
Through this long time of frost and fire, you see,
Safe in the hollow of God's hand was he.
Safe in the hollow of God's hand was he.
He has not faded in the awful snows;—
His plumes are redder than the wild red rose.
His plumes are redder than the wild red rose.
Yet what I read to you was true. Alack!
If he remember it, he might wear black.
If he remember it, he might wear black.
Yes, all I read you. Oh, the piteous words
That sobbed the story of the last-year's birds!
That sobbed the story of the last-year's birds!
The birds, the sweetest of all things called sweet,
Starved in dim places, beaten off by sleet.
Starved in dim places, beaten off by sleet.
Down from the boughs close to the ground they fell;
Down from the heights of chasm and cloud as well.
Down from the heights of chasm and cloud as well.
Yet oh, too light of heart, too light of wings,
Here, at the promise of the leaf, he sings!
Here, at the promise of the leaf, he sings!
Ah, Red-Bird, hush, and wait you within call,
Till for your dead a tear or two can fall.
Till for your dead a tear or two can fall.
No. After all, you do a wiser thing,—
Sing for the rest, who never more can sing.
Sing for the rest, who never more can sing.