Hark to the beating at the lattice!—sure

It is some winged creature asks for room

Within my walls. Shall I deny its quest,

Refuse a welcome to the homeless guest?

Who could the rigor of such night endure?

Nay, open wide the window. Come, oh, come,

And share my shelter! All the air was stirred

By the mysterious pulsing of the wings

In useless haste, until their murmurings

Grew faint and fainter; now they pulse-less lay.

Again they found the light—my eyes were blurred

With tears of pity. "Here upon my breast

Thou shalt have rest. Rest thee, dear bird, I pray!"

And as the bird's throat trembles when the song

Throbbing for wings pours to the generous air,

So my heart throbbed with pity and my hand

Went quivering as I held the stranger there.

The velvet wings dropped heavy. O'er the eyes

There came a mist, like hoary mists that roll

Far up the mountain, blotting out the skies

And leaving scars upon the lonely soul;

The stars were blurred, the hilltops canopied,

The valleys lost, the little bird was dead.