The Redbird, by Madison Cawein

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!