Titmouse
If you would happy company win,
Dangle a palm-nut from a tree,
Idly in green to sway and spin,
Its snow-pulped kernel for bait; and see
A nimble titmouse enter in.
Out of earth's vast unknown of air,
Out of all summer from wave to wave,
He'll perch, and prank his feathers fair,
Jangle a glass-like wildering stave,
And take his commons there.
This tiny son of life; this spright
By monetary Human sought,
Plum will his wing in the dappling light,
Clash timbrel shrill and gay,
And into time's enormous nought,
Sweet-fed, will flit away.
