Poemsby Emily Dickinson

XII

 High from the earth I heard a bird;   He trod upon the trees As he esteemed them trifles,   And then he spied a breeze, And situated softly   Upon a pile of wind Which in a perturbation   Nature had left behind. A joyous-going fellow   I gathered from his talk, Which both of benediction   And badinage partook, Without apparent burden,   I learned, in leafy wood He was the faithful father   Of a dependent brood; And this untoward transport   His remedy for care, - A contrast to our respites.   How different we are!