Page:Poems Tynan.djvu/183

"When by the sands he walks at morn
 The flight of birds his meek head covers,
His pocket full of crumbs and corn
 He carries for his feathered lovers.

"How many a morn have I that speak
 Picked juicy tit-bits from his fingers;
And fed, his thanksgiving so meek
 To join the wildest blackbird lingers.

"He knows the bird-tongue, every word,
 Knows well our notes of joy and grieving;
And Ronain singing to the Lord
 Would melt the hardest bird-heart living."

Thereat they counsel took, and made
 A raft for human weight and feathered,
And sailed the wild seas undismayed,
 Till by St. Mel's the raft was tethered.

And Ronain, reading in his book,
 Was 'ware a cloud fell o'er the letter,
And heard the myriad wings that shook
 And sweet "tweet-tweet" of birdly chatter.

Then all the birds swept down on him,
 Fluttering in a wild commotion,
And prayed him for their island dim,
 Far away in the middle ocean.

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