Under the eaves, out of the wet, You nest within my reach; You never sing for me and yet You have a golden speech. You sit and quirk a rapid tail, Wrinkle a ragged crest, Then pirouette from tree to rail And vault from rail to nest. And when in frequent, witty fright You grayly slip and fade, And when at hand you re-alight Demure and unafraid, And when you bring your brood its fill Of iridescent wings And green legs dewy in your bill, Your silence is what sings. Not of a feather that enjoys To prate or praise or preach, O Phœbe, with your lack of noise, What eloquence you teach! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THEY SAY - . by JEAN STARR UNTERMEYER SIT DOWN SAD SOUL by BRYAN WALLER PROCTER RID OF HIS ENGINE by ALEXANDER ANDERSON TO A BUNCH OF GRAPES; RIPENING IN MY WINDOW by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES TO NO ONE IN PARTICULAR by WITTER BYNNER A SOLILOQUY ON READING 'A DISPUTE ABOUT FAITH AND WORKS' by JOHN BYROM |