The Gold-Bird

The gold-bird came in the May morn Down fragrant billows of southwest weather: He fell, like a flame, in the sweet thorn,-- He and his brown mate close together. This was the promise of May-time; Wind-song and bird-song sweetly flowing Over the thorn, like a love-rhyme, Where buds were breaking and flowers were blowing. The gold-bird sang to his brown mate A song no words of mine may render, While she built a nest in the sweet thorn, In the dusky deeps of the thorn leaves tender. This was the joy of the May-time: A bird like a flame and a love like fire, The weather set to a soft tune Thrilled and filled with pure desire. The gold-bird sat by his brown mate, Brooding their young through the drowsy weather, And when June came with its red heat The birds and their brood flew off together. O sweet fulfillment of May-time! A gold-bird, a brown mate, a nest and fruition Of all the joys of a love-song! This was the whole of the gold-bird's mission.