XXIII
In the Garden
A bird came down the walk:He did not know I saw;He bit an angle-worm in halvesAnd ate the fellow, raw.
And then he drank a dewFrom a convenient grass,And then hopped sidewise to the wallTo let a beetle pass.
He glanced with rapid eyesThat hurried all abroad,—They looked like frightened beads, I thought;He stirred his velvet head
Like one in danger; cautious,I offered him a crumb,And he unrolled his feathersAnd rowed him softer home
Than oars divide the ocean,Too silver for a seam,Or butterflies, off banks of noon,Leap, splashless, as they swim.