Poems (Strong)/The White Heron
THE WHITE HERONFeb. 9, 1904
In yonder far-sequestered pool The wild white heron stands,With stately mien and regal air, King of these watery lands.
The glassy pond reflects his form, The sun on mangrove gleams,A statue in a leafy niche, He glistens in its beams.
In murmur of the rustling leaves, Secure from rifle's blast,He stands in calm serenity, The Spirit of the Past.
With dainty steps he paces now, His eyes the intruder scan,And to their welcome add a plea For mercy unto Man.
Anon he spreads his graceful wings, His form outlined anew;He floats, a painted bird, in air, In empyrean blue.
But no—by him a pictured bird Is but a whim, a toy;It is cold stone or canvas dead, But he is life and joy.
MARBLEHEAD