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Poem by Jones Very
To the Hummingbird
I cannot heal thy green gold breast, Where deep those cruel teeth have prest, Nor bid thee raise thy ruffled crest, And seek thy mate, Who sits alone within thy nest, Nor sees thy fate. No more with him in summer hours Thou'lt hum amid the leafy bowers, Nor hover round the dewy flowers, To feed thy young; Nor seek, when evening darkly lowers, Thy nest high hung. No more thou'lt know a mother's care Thy honied spoils at eve to share, Nor teach thy tender brood to dare With upward spring, Their path through fields of sunny air, On new fledged wing. For thy return in vain shall wait Thy tender young, thy fond fond mate, Till night's last stars beam forth full late On their sad eyes; Unknown, alas! thy cruel fate, Unheard thy cries!
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