He is a man in love with grass,
He shivers at a tree:
Thrill of wing in briar-bushes
Wildly at his heart pushes
Like the first, faint hint
A lover is let see.
If he had known a wordless song
As a bird he would sing;
Who took delight in slim rabbits,
Watched their delicate habits,
--Waited, by the briar-bush,
That flutter of wooing.
_Why did he break that small wing?_
The sun looks hollowly:
Mocking's where the water goes;
The breeze bitter in his nose:
Mocking eyes wide burning
--Lost, lost is he!