MOURNFULLY to and fro, to and fro
the trees are
waving;
What did you say, my dear?
The rain-bruised leaves are
suddenly shaken, as a
child
Asleep still shakes in the
clutch of a sob —
Yes, my love, I
hear.
One lonely bell, one only, the
storm-tossed afternoon
is
braving,
Why not let it
ring?
The
roses lean down when they hear it, the tender,
mild
Flowers of the bleeding-heart
fall to the throb —
It is such a little
thing!
A wet bird walks on the lawn, call
to the boy to come
and look,
Yes, it is over now.
Call to him out of the silence, call him to
see
The starling
shaking its head as it walks in the
grass
—
Ah, who knows
how?
He cannot see it, I can never show
it him, how it
shook —
Don’t disturb him,
darling.
— Its head as it walked: I can never call him to
me,
Never, he
is not, whatever shall come to
pass.
No, look at the wet
starling.