WALTER WINGATE

"The Transformation"

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I watched beside a moorland spring

A bird that sipped with folded wing

And nodding crest;

At every graceful move he made

A dancing iridescence played

Upon his breast.

With quaint and pretty nimbleness

He flirted with the sun's caress,

Demure, yet wild;

Alone, and pleased with solitude,

He lived from joyous mood to mood -

A wanton child.

He seemed a spirit blithe as fair,

Incarnate of the mountain air,

Till hark! - a cry -

An atmosphere of sobbing wings -

And lo! An arrant peesweep swings

Against the sky!