Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, LINES TO A SPARROW, by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

LINES TO A SPARROW, by                 Poet Analysis    
First Line: What shall we call thee - mouse o' the air
Last Line: To find all times, come year, go year.
Alternate Author Name(s): Davies, W. H.
Subject(s): Sparrows


What shall we call thee -- mouse o' the air,
To raid our buds, make our trees bare,
To rob the sunlight of its grain,
More mischievous than April's rain;
To rob our orchards, and to knock
Young blossoms down, to spoil and pock
Nature's fair face, in spite and wrath --
As he, thy brother of the earth,
Who creeps at night-time slyly forth
To tear our satins, silks, and what
He cannot munch makes wanton rot?
Nay, not like him art thou, for he
Doth from his own poor shadow flee,
And is a fearsome wretch, to show
A guilt his conscience should not know;
And so ridiculous his fear
That Innocence, without a tear
Delights to prison him; but thou
Art guiltier than we will allow.
It is in wintry weather when
The robin turns a beggar, then
Jays, pigeons, steal the squirrel's store;
But, when the winter's stress is o'er,
They are dishonourable no more --
Yet thou art thief, despoiler ever,
Through sunny and through stormy weather.
Time was thou didst perform great work,
And slay slugs, bugs, and things that lurk
In pioneer's path; of late
Thou hast incurred our mortal hate,
And we would hunt thee out of life --
Were't not for such unequal strife;
Our gins and traps, we must confess,
Are vain, and powder powerless;
And all our cunning arts are vain,
The triumph thine, and ours the pain.
Man cannot shake thee off: as though
A billow reared and plunged to throw
The wind that on its arched crest
Jockeyed from shore to shore, and rest
Not for a moment gave -- e'en so
Thy triumph none can overthrow.
With all this fuss of thee, I doubt
Thou art all bad, as men make out;
Not Cocky Sparrow, nor Jim Mouse,
O foolish man, that robs thy house:
If thou wouldst know what takes thy feed,
Set trap for hand of human greed;
'Tis not that sparrows, mice are sly --
On men who govern men keep eye.
Brown sparrow, with us everywhere,
Go, multiply without a care:
When larks sing over fields unroamed,
And sealed woods by night are stormed,
Surrendering unto nightingales --
When cuckoos call to hills from vales,
Thou, Sparrow mine, art here and near,
To find all times, come year, go year.





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