Emily Dickinson (1830–86). Complete Poems. 1924. |
Part Two: Nature
XXIII
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| A BIRD came down the walk: | |
| He did not know I saw; | |
| He bit an angle-worm in halves | |
| And ate the fellow, raw. | |
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| And then he drank a dew | 5 |
| From a convenient grass, | |
| And then hopped sidewise to the wall | |
| To let a beetle pass. | |
| |
| He glanced with rapid eyes | |
| That hurried all abroad,— | 10 |
| They looked like frightened beads, I thought | |
| He stirred his velvet head | |
| |
| Like one in danger; cautious, | |
| I offered him a crumb, | |
| And he unrolled his feathers | 15 |
| And rowed him softer home | |
| |
| Than oars divide the ocean, | |
| Too silver for a seam, | |
| Or butterflies, off banks of noon, | |
| Leap, plashless, as they swim. | 20 |
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