Snow-Bound in woodland, a mournful word,
    Dropt now and then from the bill of a bird,
    Reached me on wind-wafts; and thus I heard,
                    Wearily waiting:—

    “I planned her a nest in a leafless tree,
    But the passers eyed and twitted me,
    And said: ‘How reckless a bird is he,
                    Cheerily mating!’

    “Fear-filled, I stayed me till summer-tide,
    In lewth of leaves to throne her bride;
    But alas! her love for me waned and died,
                    Wearily waiting.

    “Ah, had I been like some I see,
    Born to an evergreen nesting-tree,
    None had eyed and twitted me,
                    Cheerily mating!”

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