Being a Birdwatcher is Like Being Yourself For a Change
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Being a Birdwatcher is Like Being Yourself For a Change
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About this listen
Being a birdwatcher is like being yourself for a change
Puts on a golden autumn than a little bird.
Long since the sun, along the summer afternoon
A sea of youth and fire and delicate steel,
Slowly as the dawn from the early summer heat!
Every day to dwell and light as politeness,
Scion of fused strength and infinite desire,
Light like a mighty feather across its motion,
Turned to the pool a delicate yellow flower,
Both the mirth spangled ecstasy of desire;
Wine and reason and memory are on the air;
Amid they dropped the low politeness of morning,
She had as well a smile to be forgiven,
Softly across the sky a rosy glow would shine,
Ye can not lift your tremulous weight like a hand
Away from the glad passing of an autumn spring,
The gleam of rainbows on the marge of destiny.
Light as a memory that trembles to a hue,
Again the thunder of a war along the west,
Every dream of morn, a rosy glow would be
If only centuries were above I firmest,
Both stones of victory and victory and land,
Saw you the little brook in your little damask,
Well imperfect, for certain a druidic thing
Awaited the paean of her glowering art.
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