A Book on Birds 



And then, the even round of existence 

 you led! The eating and the drinking 

 and the bath; and the contented snugghng 

 of the drowsy head under the wing for 

 slumber in the dusk at close of day! 



Ah me, Yellow-bird! — was this, this also, 

 first in the Father heart that made you, 

 to teach us how to live? 



And then, finally, the brave front you 

 showed at the end; with Thanksgiving 

 day past; and Christmas; and even New 

 Yearns (when you circled radiant about the 

 happy room, from one dear hand to 

 another); with all these past, and death 

 gripping at your slender throat; the brave, 

 brave front you showed at the end! — till 

 the dauntless eyes grew dim, and the 

 saucy crest drooped down, and after a 

 little there was nothing that remained but 

 an embodied silence in feathery gold! 



Ah me. Yellow-bird! — was all this too 

 — even this, first in the Father heart that 

 made you, to teach us how to die? 



0, Yellow-bird, your coming and your 

 going seem less in the stillness than these 



[1781 



