The marten flew to the finch's nest, Feathers, and moss, and a wisp of hay: The arrow it sped to thy brown mate's breast; Low in the broom is thy mate to-day." Liest thou low, love? low in the broom? Feathers and moss, and a wisp of hay, Warm the white eggs till I learn his doom." She beateth her wings, and away, away. Ah, my sweet singer, thy days are told (Feathers and moss, and a wisp of hay)! Thine eyes are dim, and the eggs grow cold. O mournful morrow! O dark to-day!" The finch flew back to her cold, cold nest, Feathers and moss, and a wisp of hay, Mine is the trouble that rent her breast, And home is silent, and love is clay. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE RESURRECTION by JONATHAN HENDERSON BROOKS ONCE BY THE PACIFIC by ROBERT FROST THE BARD; A PINDARIC ODE by THOMAS GRAY THE VOICELESS by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES DRIFTING by THOMAS BUCHANAN READ THE REQUEST. TO LOVE by PHILIP AYRES ANOTHER JOURNEY FROM BETHUNE TO CUINCHY by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN |