It was there, perhaps, last year, That his little house he built; For he seems to perk and peer, And to twitter, too, and tilt The bare branches in between, With a fond, familiar mien. Once, I know, there was a nest, Held there by the sideward thrust Of those twigs that touch his breast; Though 'tis gone now. Some rude gust Caught it, over-full of snow,-- Bent the bush,--and stole it so. Thus our highest holds are lost, In the ruthless winter's wind, When, with swift-dismantling frost, The green woods we dwelt in, thinn'd Of their leafage, grow too cold For frail hopes of summer's mold. But if we, with spring-days mellow, Wake to woeful wrecks of change, And the sparrow's ritornello Scaling still its old sweet range; Can we do a better thing Than, with him, still build and sing? Oh, my sparrow, thou dost breed Thought in me beyond all telling; Shootest through me sunlight, seed, And fruitful blessing, with that welling Ripple of ecstatic rest Gurgling ever from thy breast! And thy breezy carol spurs Vital motion in my blood, Such as in the sap-wood stirs, Swells and shapes the pointed bud Of the lilac; and besets The hollow thick with violets. Yet I know not any charm That can make the fleeting time Of thy sylvan, faint alarm Suit itself to human rhyme: And my yearning rhythmic word Does thee grievous wrong, blithe bird. So, however thou hast wrought This wild joy on heart and brain, It is better left untaught. Take thou up the song again: There is nothing sad afloat On the tide that swells thy throat! I LOVED YOU, ONCE-- And did you think my heart Could keep its love unchanging, Fresh as the buds that start In spring, nor know estranging? Listen! The buds depart: I loved you once, but now-- I love you more than ever. 'T is not the early love; With day and night it alters, And onward still must move Like earth, that never falters For storm or star above. I loved you once; but now-- I love you more than ever. With gifts in those glad days How eagerly I sought you! Youth, shining hope, and praise: These were the gifts I brought you. In this world little stays: I loved you once, but now-- I love you more than ever. A child with glorious eyes Here in our arms half sleeping-- So passion wakeful lies; Then grows to manhood, keeping Its wistful, young surprise: I loved you once, but now-- I love you more than ever. When age's pinching air Strips summer's rich possession, And leaves the branches bare, My secret in confession Still thus with you I'll share: I loved you once, but now-- I love you more than ever. II THE BRIDE OF WAR (ARNOLD'S MARCH TO CANADA, 1775) I