Five little birds call, beyond the wind-eye –
I spy them aloft, a-floating a bough
To the weatherly sky, a common-heart
Band, tugging their home to a Heav’nly cloud:
List’ning, alone, with a rose in my sigh,
Recalling how now it’s the thaw of the spring,
When the little breeze flies with a twinkling
Bell, and the schoolboys are raising the flag:
I stir in my bed with the white linen sheets
And gaze out the little wind-eye.