TO-DAY, within my garden arch,
From the woodbine clustering round
A dainty little wren down flew,
And tripped along the ground.
Nearer the pretty stranger came
With pert and saucy pride,
Then nimbly hopped upon the seat,
And waited by my side.
Quiet I sat like one transfixed -
The sight was strange and new -
And wondered in my inmost heart
What next the wren would do.
Awhile it stood, so pert and trim -
My breath came soft and slow -
Now held its little head aside,
And bobbed it to and fro;
Then in a second up it flew,
Its little wings outspread,
Beneath the woodbine in the roof
And perched upon my head.
I could have cried aloud with joy
To feel its tiny weight,
But like a statue I remained,
And still upon the seat.
Then off the little stranger went,
And straight away it flew,
And out toward the elm-tree tops,
Like a speck against the blue.
And now I know, what long I felt,
With pain so sweet and wild,
That nature holds me in her thought,
And claims me for her child.
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