i2 The Log-Cock 
If with fox feet you approach him, 
If with scant breath you discern him, 
In this early winter morning 
As he toils with noisy rappings, 
You will see his claws embedded 
In the hemlock's outer fibre, 
You will see his glossy plumage 
Dark against the snowy hillside, 
You will see his head thrown back- 
ward, 
Then with spiteful force flung forward, 
You will see the fresh chips flying. 
You will hear the tree complaining. 
If you crush the crust beneath you. 
If his glance chance to be towards you. 
You will see the flame crest lifted, 
You will see his eye flash anger, 
You will hear a shriek so vengeful, 
In your dreams will come its echo. 
Then the log-cock will have vanished, 
And the ants within the hemlock 
Will escape his morning drilling. 
