Page:A Sheaf Gleaned in French Fields.djvu/245

How oft the bark with fingers light
In Flanders' towns medieval,
I've shaped to flutes that shepherds might
Have used in times primeval.

There, willow-slips the garden green
Enclose and keep in order,
And for the fields of flax and bean
They make a simple border.

On willow trunks in summer still
The birds delight to warble;
And when the snows their hollows fill
Those trunks seem Parian marble.

When axes wound the withered shoots
In autumn's groves decaying,
Alone the owl amid them hoots,
The children's hearts affraying.

But oh,—in spring when leaf and bud
Press forth to new expansion,
And colours bright all quarters stud,
The birds find back their mansion.

Nor birds alone,—for, generous trees
Not niggard in bestowing!
To all are free your treasuries,
Abundant and o'erflowing.

The child that wants a pliant twig
To weave a tiny basket,
The wren that wants for seat a sprig,
Not even have to ask it.