Bird music.
83
Unconscious of thine audience,
Careless of praises as of blame,
In simpleness and innocence,
Thy gentle life pursues its aim,
So tender and serene, that we might blush for shame.
Careless of praises as of blame,
In simpleness and innocence,
Thy gentle life pursues its aim,
So tender and serene, that we might blush for shame.
The patience of thy brooding wings
That droop in silence day by day,
The little crowd of callow things
That joy for weariness repay,—
These are the living spring, thy song the fountain's spray.
That droop in silence day by day,
The little crowd of callow things
That joy for weariness repay,—
These are the living spring, thy song the fountain's spray.
