THE WOUNDED BIRD
Inthe wide bedUnder the green embroidered quiltWith flowers and leaves always in soft motionShe is like a wounded bird resting on a pool.The hunter threw his dartAnd hit her breast,—Hit her but did not kill.“O my wings, lift me—lift me!I am not dreadfully hurt!”Down she dropped and was still.Kind people come to the edge of the pool with baskets.“Of course what the poor bird wants is plenty of food!”Their bags and pockets are crammed almost to burstingWith dinner scrapings and scraps from the servants’ lunch.Oh! how pleased they are to be reallygiving!“In the past, you know you know, you were always so fly-away.So seldom came to the window-sill, so rarelyShared the delicious crumbs thrown into the yard.Here is a delicate fragment and here a tit-bitAs good as new. And here’s a morsel of relishAnd cake and bread and bread and bread and bread.”At night, in the wide bedWith the leaves and flowersGently weaving in the darkness,She is like a wounded bird at rest on a pool.Timidly, timidly she lifts her head from her wingIn the sky there are two starsFloating, shining ...O waters—do not cover me!I would look long and long at those beautiful stars!O my wings—lift me—lift me!I am not so dreadfully hurt ...1919.
Inthe wide bedUnder the green embroidered quiltWith flowers and leaves always in soft motionShe is like a wounded bird resting on a pool.The hunter threw his dartAnd hit her breast,—Hit her but did not kill.“O my wings, lift me—lift me!I am not dreadfully hurt!”Down she dropped and was still.Kind people come to the edge of the pool with baskets.“Of course what the poor bird wants is plenty of food!”Their bags and pockets are crammed almost to burstingWith dinner scrapings and scraps from the servants’ lunch.Oh! how pleased they are to be reallygiving!“In the past, you know you know, you were always so fly-away.So seldom came to the window-sill, so rarelyShared the delicious crumbs thrown into the yard.Here is a delicate fragment and here a tit-bitAs good as new. And here’s a morsel of relishAnd cake and bread and bread and bread and bread.”At night, in the wide bedWith the leaves and flowersGently weaving in the darkness,She is like a wounded bird at rest on a pool.Timidly, timidly she lifts her head from her wingIn the sky there are two starsFloating, shining ...O waters—do not cover me!I would look long and long at those beautiful stars!O my wings—lift me—lift me!I am not so dreadfully hurt ...1919.
Inthe wide bedUnder the green embroidered quiltWith flowers and leaves always in soft motionShe is like a wounded bird resting on a pool.
The hunter threw his dartAnd hit her breast,—Hit her but did not kill.“O my wings, lift me—lift me!I am not dreadfully hurt!”Down she dropped and was still.
Kind people come to the edge of the pool with baskets.“Of course what the poor bird wants is plenty of food!”Their bags and pockets are crammed almost to burstingWith dinner scrapings and scraps from the servants’ lunch.Oh! how pleased they are to be reallygiving!“In the past, you know you know, you were always so fly-away.So seldom came to the window-sill, so rarelyShared the delicious crumbs thrown into the yard.Here is a delicate fragment and here a tit-bitAs good as new. And here’s a morsel of relishAnd cake and bread and bread and bread and bread.”
At night, in the wide bedWith the leaves and flowersGently weaving in the darkness,She is like a wounded bird at rest on a pool.Timidly, timidly she lifts her head from her wingIn the sky there are two starsFloating, shining ...O waters—do not cover me!I would look long and long at those beautiful stars!O my wings—lift me—lift me!I am not so dreadfully hurt ...
1919.