[From _Songs of Nature_, edited by John Burroughs (New York,
1901)]
If this be all, for which I've listened long,
Oh, spirit of the dew!
You did not sing to Shelley such a song
As Shelley sung to you.
Yet, with this ruined Old World for a nest,
Worm-eaten through and through,--
This waste of grave-dust stamped with crown and crest,--
What better could you do?
Ah me! but when the world and I were young,
There was an apple-tree,
There was a voice came in the dawn and sung
The buds awake--ah me!
Oh, Lark of Europe, downward fluttering near,
Like some spent leaf at best,
You'd never sing again if you could hear
My Blue-Bird of the West!