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II
Nest Eggs
Birds all the summer day
Flutter and
quarrel
Here in the arbour-like
Tent of the
laurel.
Here in the fork
The brown nest
is seated;
For little blue eggs
The mother keeps
heated.
While we stand watching her
Staring like
gabies,
Safe in each egg are the
Bird's little
babies.
Soon the frail eggs they shall
Chip, and
upspringing
Make all the April woods
Merry with
singing.
Younger than we are,
O children, and
frailer,
Soon in the blue air they'll be,
Singer and
sailor.
We, so much older,
Taller and
stronger,
We shall look down on the
Birdies no
longer.
They shall go flying
With musical
speeches
High overhead in the
Tops of the
beeches.
In spite of our wisdom
And sensible
talking,
We on our feet must go
Plodding and
walking.
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