English poem
WHILE I watch the Christmas blaze
by Thomas Hardy
Paint the room with ruddy rays, Something makes my vision glide To the frosty scene outside.
There, to reach a rotting berry, Toils a thrush,—constrained to very Dregs of food by sharp distress, Taking such with thankfulness.
Why, O starving bird, when I One day’s joy would justify, And put misery out of view, Do you make me notice you!