The Poetical Works of William Motherwell/I Plucked the Berry
I Plucked the Berry.
I've plucked the berry, from the bush, the brown nut from the tree,
But heart of happy little bird ne'er broken was by me;
I saw them in their curious nests, close couching, slyly peer,
With their wild eyes, like glittering beads, to note if harm were near:
I passed them by, and blessed them all; I felt that it was good
To leave unmoved the creatures small whose home is in the wood.
And here, even now, above my head, a lusty rogue doth sing,
He pecks his swelling breast and neck, and trims his little wing,
He will not fly; he knows full well, while chirping on that spray,
I would not harm him for a world, or interrupt his lay;
Sing on, sing on, blythe bird! and fill my heart with summer gladness,
It has been aching many a day with measures full of sadness!