Mothers in the Garden

Wagtail—pied Wagtail— What tremor's in your breast? On nimble feet, when we draw near, You run about to hide your fear, As if to say: There's nothing here, I have no nest....

Wagtail—pied Wagtail— We too their voices heard; Away then to the water-side, And fetch the food for which they cried; From us there is no need to hide, My dainty bird.

The thrushes' nest has fallen From the ivy on the wall: The dear blue eggs are broken, All broken by the fall.

But we heard a song at sundown That said: O tears are vain!— And babe and I ceased grieving: We think they will build again.