218
what's o'clock
THE HUMMING-BIRDS
Up—up—water shooting,
Jet of water, white and silver,
Tinkling with the morning sun-bells.
Red as sun-blood, whizz of fire,
Shock of fire-spray and water.
It is the humming-birds flying against the stream of the fountain.
The trumpet-vine bursts into a scatter of hummingbirds,
The scarlet-throated trumpet flowers explode with humming-birds.
The fountain waits to toss them diamonds.
I clasp my hands over my heart
Which will not let loose its humming-birds,
Which will not break to green and ruby,
Jet of water, white and silver,
Tinkling with the morning sun-bells.
Red as sun-blood, whizz of fire,
Shock of fire-spray and water.
It is the humming-birds flying against the stream of the fountain.
The trumpet-vine bursts into a scatter of hummingbirds,
The scarlet-throated trumpet flowers explode with humming-birds.
The fountain waits to toss them diamonds.
I clasp my hands over my heart
Which will not let loose its humming-birds,
Which will not break to green and ruby,
