AMONG the dwellings¹ framed by birds

    In field or forest with nice care，

    Is none that with the little Wren's

    In snugness² may compare.

    No door the tenement³ requires，

    And seldom needs a laboured roof；

    Yet is it to the fiercest sun

    Impervious⁴， and storm-proof.

    So warm， so beautiful withal，

    In perfect fitness for its aim，

    That to the Kind by special grace

    Their instinct surely came.

    And when for their abodes⁵ they seek

    An opportune⁶ recess⁷，

    The hermit⁸ has no finer eye

    For shadowy quietness.

    These find， 'mid⁹ ivied abbey-walls，

    A canopy¹⁰ in some still nook；

    Others are pent-housed by a brae

    That overhangs a brook¹¹.

    There to the brooding bird her mate

    Warbles by fits his low clear song；

    And by the busy streamlet both

    Are sung to all day long.

    Or in sequestered¹² lanes they build，

    Where， till the flitting bird's return，

    Her eggs within the nest repose¹⁴，

    Like relics¹⁵ in an urn¹³.

    But still， where general choice is good，

    There is a better and a best；

    And， among fairest objects， some

    Are fairer than the rest；

    This， one of those small builders proved

    In a green covert¹⁶， where， from out

    The forehead of a pollard oak，

    The leafy antlers sprout¹⁷；

    For She who planned the mossy lodge¹⁸，

    Mistrusting her evasive skill，

    Had to a Primrose¹⁹ looked for aid

    Her wishes to fulfill²⁰.

    High on the trunk's projecting brow，

    And fixed²¹ an infant's span above

    The budding flowers， peeped forth²² the nest

    The prettiest of the grove²³！

    The treasure proudly did I show

    To some whose minds without disdain²⁴

    Can turn to little things； but once

    Looked up for it in vain：

    'Tis gone——a ruthless spoiler's prey²⁵，

    Who heeds²⁶ not beauty， love， or song，

    'Tis gone！ （so seemed it） and we grieved

    Indignant at the wrong.

    Just three days after， passing by

    In clearer light the moss-built cell

    I saw， espied²⁷ its shaded mouth；

    And felt that all was well.

    The Primrose for a veil had spread

    The largest of her upright leaves；

    And thus， for purposes benign²⁸，

    A simple flower deceives.

    Concealed²⁹ from friends who might disturb

    Thy quiet with no ill intent，

    Secure from evil eyes and hands

    On barbarous plunder³⁰ bent³¹，

    Rest， Mother-bird！ and when thy young

    Take flight， and thou art free to roam，

    When withered³² is the guardian³³ Flower，

    And empty thy late home，

    Think how ye prospered³⁴， thou and thine，

    Amid the unviolated grove

    Housed near the growing Primrose-tuft

    In foresight³⁵， or in love.

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