THE DOWNY WOODPECKER 



DOWNY came and dwelt with me, 

 Taught me hermit lore ; 



Drilled his cell in oaken tree 

 Near my cabin door. 



Architect of his own home 



In the forest dim, 

 Carving its inverted dome 



In a dozy limb. 



Carved it deep and shaped it true 



With his little bill ; 

 Took no thought about the view, 



Whether dale or hill. 



Shook the chips upon the ground, 



Careless who might see. 

 Hark! his hatchet's muffled sound 



Hewing in the tree. 



Round his door as compass-mark, 

 True and smooth his wall ; 



Just a shadow on the bark 

 Points you to his hall. 



