Poems (Carmichael)/The Wounded Bird

by Sarah Elizabeth Carmichael

THE WOUNDED BIRD.

Never again in the wild-wood bowers
 Will thy trembling notes be heard;
Never again will the branches sway
 Under thee, sweet little bird!
The breath of the spring upheld thy wing,
 And the summer drank thy strain;
But the plumes that fluttered the blossoms then
 Never will perch again.

Never again!—in the dear, old woods
 The flowers will bloom and die,
And many a shining pinion flit
 Over the sun-bathed sky;
And many a note on the soft winds float,
 As pure in its melody
As the frozen tones in thy fluttering heart—
 But never again for thee!

Never again!—there are crimson drops
 Quivering on thy breast;
Thy pulses curdle around the shaft
 Under thy soft wing pressed.
Ah! it is well, thou has breathed thy song—
 If its low, wild gush hath stirred
One heart's deep waves, thou hast done thy part,
 Beautiful, wounded bird!