Sparrow's Lament
THE Great Shrike put me on a thorn
Too near the house where I was born.
It’s made of straw I thought so fine.
I see that heaven-pointing pine
I sang in, scrag against the sky.
No singing now for such as I.
Poor I — he must have marked my crest
(Or that strange spot upon my breast)
To fancy me from all the rest.
Good Cankerworms! The tree’s possessed
These other hop-in-hedges loop
Their necks like robins with the roop.
Don’t lollop around so sour and still,
Grimalkins . . . fly to Thirsty Hill!
I hear my blood drip on a stone.
Oh, Birds, how bright his bent beak shone!
Too near the house where I was born.
It’s made of straw I thought so fine.
I see that heaven-pointing pine
I sang in, scrag against the sky.
No singing now for such as I.
Poor I — he must have marked my crest
(Or that strange spot upon my breast)
To fancy me from all the rest.
Good Cankerworms! The tree’s possessed
These other hop-in-hedges loop
Their necks like robins with the roop.
Don’t lollop around so sour and still,
Grimalkins . . . fly to Thirsty Hill!
I hear my blood drip on a stone.
Oh, Birds, how bright his bent beak shone!