The marten flew to the finch's nest, Feathers, and moss, and a wisp of hay: The arrow it sped to thy brown mate's breast; Low in the broom is thy mate to-day." Liest thou low, love? low in the broom? Feathers and moss, and a wisp of hay, Warm the white eggs till I learn his doom." She beateth her wings, and away, away. Ah, my sweet singer, thy days are told (Feathers and moss, and a wisp of hay)! Thine eyes are dim, and the eggs grow cold. O mournful morrow! O dark to-day!" The finch flew back to her cold, cold nest, Feathers and moss, and a wisp of hay, Mine is the trouble that rent her breast, And home is silent, and love is clay. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BURIAL OF MOSES by CECIL FRANCES ALEXANDER MERCILES BEAUTE; A TRIPLE ROUNDEL: 1. CAPTIVITY by GEOFFREY CHAUCER DEAD MAN'S DUMP by ISAAC ROSENBERG SONNET: 106 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE WILD GEESE by GEORGE LAWRENCE ANDREWS COMPLAINS, BEING HIND'RED THE SIGHT OF HIS NYMPH by PHILIP AYRES |