Once in our customed walk a wounded bird, With feeble effort fluttering awhile, Fell at my feet; unknowing of its hurt, "Poor thing, 'tis sick," I said, and laid it on My bosom; it could not rest for pain; So tenderly I gave it to thy care. -- "Look -- Ah it bleeds! we cannot save nor ease it, -- See its torn wing -- its shattered panting breast -- It writhes its little limbs with grievous pain; And now its dim eyes close -- quite close -- it dies! Poor pretty bird! -- Could he who did this deed, Have seen thy lingering life in torture thus Expire, I know he would forbear to kill." -- "Nay, nay, dear Mary! thou hast much to learn." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON LIBERTY AND SLAVERY by GEORGE MOSES HORTON THE STORY OF URIAH by RUDYARD KIPLING EPIGRAM: 101 by MARCUS VALERIUS MARTIALIS THE ORCHARD PIT by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI THE LITTLE MATCH-GIRL by HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN ON THE BIRTH OF A FRIEND'S ELDEST SON by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD |