High from the earth I heard a bird,
He trod upon the trees
As he esteemed them trifles,
And then he spied a breeze,
And situated softly
Upon a pile of wind
Which in a perturbation
Nature had left behind.
A joyous going fellow
I gathered from his talk
Which...
His Bill an Auger is
His Head, a Cap and Frill
He laboreth at every Tree
A Worm, His utmost Goal.
His Bill is clasped — his Eye forsook —
His Feathers wilted low —
The Claws that clung, like lifeless Gloves
Indifferent hanging now —
The Joy that in his happy Throat
Was waiting to be poured
Gored through and through with Death, to be
Assassin of a Bird
Resembles to my outraged...
His Cheek is his Biographer —
As long as he can blush
Perdition is Opprobrium —
Past that, he sins in peace —
His Feet are shod with Gauze —
His Helmet, is of Gold,
His Breast, a Single Onyx
With Chrysophrase, inlaid.
His Labor is a Chant —
His Idleness — a Tune —
Oh, for a Bee's experience
Of Clovers, and of Noon!
His Heart was darker than the starless night
For that there is a morn
But in this black Receptacle
Can be no Bode of Dawn
His little Hearse like Figure
Unto itself a Dirge
To a delusive Lilac
The vanity divulge
Of Industry and Morals
And every righteous thing
For the divine Perdition
Of Idleness and Spring —
His Mansion in the Pool
The Frog forsakes —
He rises on a Log
And statements makes —
His Auditors two Worlds
Deducting me —
The Orator of April
Is hoarse Today —
His Mittens at his Feet
No Hand hath he —
His eloquence a Bubble
As Fame should be...
His Mind like Fabrics of the East
Displayed to the despair
Of everyone but here and there
An humble Purchaser —
For though his price was not of Gold —
More arduous there is —
That one should comprehend the worth
Was all the price there was —
His mind of man, a secret makes
I meet him with a start
He carries a circumference
In which I have no part —
Or even if I deem I do
He otherwise may know
Impregnable to inquest
However neighborly —