Our little bird in his full day of health With his gold-coated beauty made us glad, But when disease approached with cruel stealth, A sadder interest our smiles forbad. How oft we watched him, when the night hours came, His poor head buried near his bursting heart, Which beat within a puft, and played his part: The seed-glass, slighted by his sickening taste, The little moulted feathers, saffron-tipt, The fountain, where his fever'd bill was dipt, The perches, which his failing feet embraced, All these remain-- not even his bath removed -- But where's the spray and flutter that we loved? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MOUNTAIN WATER by SARA TEASDALE ON THE DEATH OF MR. CRASHAW by ABRAHAM COWLEY TYRANNICK [TYRANNIC] LOVE: SONG by JOHN DRYDEN LITTLE BOY BLUE by EUGENE FIELD FOR LOVE'S SAKE, KISS ME ONCE AGAIN! by BEN JONSON |