Could there be aught more hushed Than their quietest of wings, It is their treble voices now As they drop from the sacred bough Intent on distant things. Could there be aught more safe Than the hush in which they flit, It is the little driven nest That leans out high o'er every quest With its darkness of the pit. In the warm field to which They dip, blue-winged, all day, The tree about the fruit it feeds, The grass about its little seeds, Is not more still than they. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WHEN HE EMERGED by MARGARET AHO KNOWLEDGE by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH SATIRE: 5 by AULUS PERSIUS FLACCUS PICKEN O' SCROFF by WILLIAM BARNES AT SABBATH DOWN by LOUISA SARAH BEVINGTON A POEM, DEDICATED TO WILLIAM LAW, PROFESSOR OF PHILOSOPHY by ROBERT BLAIR |