I cannot forbear to record that the last seven lines of this 
      Poem were composed in bed during the night of the day on which my 
      sister Sara Hutchinson died about 6 P.M., and it was the thought 
      of her innocent and beautiful life that, through faith, prompted 
      the words--
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            "On wings that fear no glance of God's pure sight,
             No tempest from his breath."
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      The reader will find two poems on pictures of this bird among my 
      Poems. I will here observe that in a far greater number of 
      instances than have been mentioned in these notes one poem has, as 
      in this case, grown out of another, either because I felt the 
      subject had been inadequately treated, or that the thoughts and 
      images suggested in course of composition have been such as I 
      found interfered with the unity indispensable to every work of 
      art, however humble in character.