| Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). An American Anthology, 1787–1900. 1900. |
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| 305. My Bird |
| | | By Emily Chubbuck Judson |
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| ERE last year’s moon had left the sky, | |
| A birdling sought my Indian nest, | |
| And folded, O, so lovingly, | |
| Her tiny wings upon my breast. | |
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| From morn till evening’s purple tinge, | 5 |
| In winsome helplessness she lies, | |
| Two rose-leaves, with a silken fringe, | |
| Shut softly on her starry eyes. | |
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| There ’s not in Ind a lovelier bird; | |
| Broad earth owns not a happier nest; | 10 |
| O God, thou hast a fountain stirred, | |
| Whose waters nevermore shall rest! | |
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| This beautiful, mysterious thing, | |
| This seeming visitant from Heaven, | |
| This bird with the immortal wing, | 15 |
| To me—to me, Thy hand has given. | |
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| The pulse first caught its tiny stroke, | |
| The blood its crimson hue, from mine;— | |
| This life, which I have dared invoke, | |
| Henceforth is parallel with Thine. | 20 |
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| A silent awe is in my room— | |
| I tremble with delicious fear; | |
| The future, with its light and gloom, | |
| Time and Eternity, are here. | |
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| Doubts—hopes, in eager tumult rise; | 25 |
| Hear, O my God! one earnest prayer: | |
| Room for my bird in Paradise, | |
| And give her angel plumage there! | |
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