Could there be aught more hushed Than their quietest of wings, It is their treble voices now As they drop from the sacred bough Intent on distant things. Could there be aught more safe Than the hush in which they flit, It is the little driven nest That leans out high o'er every quest With its darkness of the pit. In the warm field to which They dip, blue-winged, all day, The tree about the fruit it feeds, The grass about its little seeds, Is not more still than they. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE WOMEN WITH FABLED HAIR by MADELINE DEFREES COSMOPOLITE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON IN LOVE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON SYMPATHY by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: WILLIAM JONES by EDGAR LEE MASTERS SUMMER SHIRT SALE by CARL SANDBURG HYBRIDS OF WAR: A MORALITY POEM: 1. VIETNAM by KAREN SWENSON |