THE CROW 145 



Thy thrifty flight ere rise of sun, 

 Thy homing clans when day is done. 



Hues protective are not thine, 



So sleek thy coat each quill doth shine. 



Diamond black to end of toe, 

 Thy counterpoint the crystal snow. 



II 



Never plaintive nor appealing, 



Quite at home when thou art stealing, 



Always groomed to tip of feather, 

 Calm and trim in every weather. 



Morn till night my woods policing. 

 Every sound thy watch increasing. 



Hawk and owl in treetop hiding 

 Feel the shame of thy deriding. 



Naught escapes thy observation, 

 None but dread thy accusation. 



Ill 



Hunters, prowlers, woodland- lovers 

 Vainly seek the leafy covers. 



