Winter-Bird

I COME from deeps of untrodden snow,

A winter-bird;

Each note of mine is a silver glow,

A magic word.

My plumes are spangled with the dew

Of heavenly owers;

By my Wing-waft nights and days renew

Their fruitful hours.

Lifes tragic shows are brought by my pale

Rejected feathers;

Carried by the drift of an autumn gale

Beyond the tethers

Of my moon-white thought, they reach this globe

And run like
res

That sway and sweep, a blazing robe

Of earth-desires.

In a cool shower my nectarous song

Falls on the grass:

A myriad beauty of owers throng

Dancing where was

Only scorched earth. Then is ful
lled

My supreme truth,

For life and death are secrets sealed

Of eternal Youth.

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