2478644Birdcraft — UntitledEdgar Fawcett

When the mild gold stars flower out,
As the summer gleaming goes,
A dim shape quivers about
Some sweet rich heart of a rose.
* * * * * * *
Then you, by thoughts of it stirred,
Still dreamily question them:
“Is it a gem, half bird,

Or is it a bird, half gem?”