The Redbird

From "Wild Thorn and Lily"     Among the white haw-blossoms, where the creek     Droned under drifts of dogwood and of haw,     The redbird, like a crimson blossom blown     Against the snow-white bosom of the Spring,     The chaste confusion of her lawny breast,     Sang on, prophetic of serener days,     As confident as June's completer hours.     And I stood listening like a hind, who hears     A wood nymph breathing in a forest flute     Among the beech-boles of myth-haunted ways:     And when it ceased, the memory of the air     Blew like a syrinx in my brain: I made     A lyric of the notes that men might know:     He flies with flirt and fluting -     As flies a crimson star     From flaming star-beds shooting -     From where the roses are.     Wings past and sings; and seven     Notes, wild as fragrance is, -     That turn to flame in heaven, -     Float round him full of bliss.     He sings; each burning feather     Thrills, throbbing at his throat;     A song of firefly weather,     And of a glowworm boat:     Of Elfland and a princess     Who, born of a perfume,     His music rocks, - where winces     That rosebud's cradled bloom.     No bird sings half so airy,     No bird of dusk or dawn,     Thou masking King of Faery!     Thou red-crowned Oberon!