I have listened for the beat <br />Of slow wings across the sea. <br />In their strange and dumb retreat <br />From their foreign liberty. <br />Come the birds from northern lands, <br />Where the Russian sleigh-bells chime, <br />From the hungry desert sands <br />Of a southern clime. <br />Come the birds where Eastern air, <br />Pierced by lofty minaret, <br />Echoes far the Turkish prayer <br />Of a God we half forget. <br />In my garden I have strayed <br />Through the warm sweet days of Spring, <br />Bent to each small nest, delayed <br />By the young birds' fluttering. <br /> <br />To the soft, song-laden wind <br />Leant in hope and half in fear, <br />One low perfect note to find <br />In the joyous tumult here. <br />There 's no bird upon the wing, <br />There 's no fledgeling in the nest, <br />There 's no song where others sing <br />More glorious than the rest. <br />Is he caged without release <br />Who makes all lovely things to be? <br />What holds the gentle bird of Peace, <br />God's hand, or human frailty?<br /><br />Dora Sigerson Shorter<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/migratory-birds-3/
