Mothers in the Garden

Wagtail — pied Wagtail —

What tremor's in your breast?

On nimble feet, when we draw near,

You run about to hide your fear,

As if to say: There's nothing here,

I have no nest....

Wagtail — pied Wagtail —

We too their voices heard;

Away then to the water-side,

And fetch the food for which they cried;

From us there is no need to hide,

My dainty bird.

The thrushes’ nest has fallen

From the ivy on the wall:

The dear blue eggs are broken,

All broken by the fall.

But we heard a song at sundown

That said: O tears are vain!—

And babe and I ceased grieving:

We think they will build again.