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web | The Sun Is but a Morning Star

A Bird came down the Walk -
He did not know I saw -
He bit an angle-worm in halves
And ate the fellow, raw,

And then he drank a Dew
From a convenient Grass,
And then hopped sidewise to the Wall
To let a Beetle pass -

He glanced with rapid eyes
That hurried all abroa -
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 feathers
And rowed him softer home -

Than Oars divide the Ocean,
Too silver for a seam -
Or Butterflies, off Banks of Noon,
Leap, plashless as they swim.

c. 1862

© Emily Dickinson
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© E-publisher LiterNet, 03.05.2009
The Sun Is but a Morning Star. Anthology of American Literature. Edited by Albena Bakratcheva. Varna: LiterNet, 2008-2010