He hit the window with a blinding crash
And lay there, broken, dazed and motionless,
I held him warm and dying in my hand,
Eyes glazed, no more the rapid beating life ,
Of a youthful heart beneath a rose-stained breast.
He settled slowly into the calm of death.
The singing on the boughs never ceased
His music and his presence were not mourned.
It seemed that from the songs that filled the air
All lived in the happy provinces of Spring.