We loved our nightjar， but she would not stay with us.

　　We had found her lying as dead， but soft and warm，

　　Under the apple tree beside the old thatched wall.

　　Two days we kept her in a basket by the fire，

　　Fed her， and thought she well might live ？ till suddenly

　　I the very moment of most confiding¹ hope

　　She arised herself all tense， qivered and drooped² and died.

　　Tears sprang into my eyes- why not？ The heart of man

　　Soon sets itself to love a living companion，

　　The more so if by chance it asks some care of him.

　　And this one had the kind of loveliness that goes

　　Far deeper than the optic nerve- full fathom³ five

　　To the soul抯ocean cave， where Wonder and Reason

　　Tell their alternate⁴ dreams of how the world was made.

　　So wonderful she was-her wings the wings of night

　　But powdered here and therewith tiny golden clouds

　　And wave-line markings like sea-ripples on the sand.

　　O how I wish I might never forget that bird-

　　Never！

　　But even now， like all beauty of earth，

　　She is fading from me into the dusk⁵ of Time.

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