My Sparrows

FROM a dingy garden-bower, —
Child, pent up in smoky town, —
Watched I many a patient hour
For the sparrows gray and brown.
Sprinkling salt on a tail-feather
Was to be my charm of might ;
But the salt and I together
Failed to stay their sudden flight.

Had I caught that wished-for sparrow
(Now, I say in wisdom’s words),
Still my triumph had been narrow, —
Sparrows are but homely birds,
Dull of plumage, with no glitter
On their breasts of dingy gray;
And their voice a restless twitter :
I am glad they flew away !

For my fancy now beholds them
With the plumes of Paradise,
And my eager clutch enfolds them
Glitt’ring with a thousand dyes.
Love himself might gem his arrows
With a feather from their breast;
Philomel learn from those sparrows
Songs she never has possessed.

Now grown old, for other sparrows
Still I lay my futile snares ;
And though Fancy’s kingdom narrows,
Hope, unchanged, my visions shares.
Love, Ambition, Wealth, and Learning
Hop about my garden rails;
And I feel the same old yearning,
And creep up to salt their tails.

Off they fly ! but all unheeding,
I console myself with this:
’T is the thing we don’t succeed in
Seems to us the truest bliss.
When we’ve caught our bright ideal,
We have spoiled its painted wings,
And the broad glare of the real
Shows the shabbiness of things.

Still, while restless Fancy lingers,
Puffing at my idle sails,
Hope and I will find our fingers
Sprinkling salt for sparrows’ tails.
Sorry work ’t would make of living,
Did the future promise naught;
And — I say it with thanksgiving —
All my sparrows are not caught !