Page:The Sad Years.djvu/85



HAVE listened for the beat Of slow wings across the sea. In their strange and dumb retreat From their foreign liberty.

Come the birds from northern lands, Where the Russian sleigh-bells chime, From the hungry desert sands Of a southern clime.

Come the birds where Eastern air, Pierced by lofty minaret, Echoes far the Turkish prayer Of a God we half forget.

In my garden I have strayed Through the warm sweet days of Spring, Bent to each small nest, delayed By the young birds' fluttering. [77]