Tree with a Bird in it — The Unquiet Singer by Charles Hanson Towne

_Charles Hanson Towne_ (Who rather begrudged the time he used up in going out to the suburbs.

) THE UNQUIET SINGER

He had been singing, but I had not heard his voice;

He had been bothering the rest with song;

But I, most comfortably far Within the city's stimulating jar Feeling for bus-conductors and for flats, And shop-girls buying too expensive hats, And silver-serviced dinners, And various kinds of pleasant urban sinners, And riding on the subway and the L, Had much beside his song to hear and tell.

But one day (it was Spring, when poets ride Afield to wild poetic festivals) I, innocently making calls Was snatched by a swift motor toward his tree (Alas, but lady poets will do this to thee If thou art decorative, witty or a Man) And heard him sing, and on the grass did bide.

But my whole day was sadder for his words, And I was thinner Because, in spite of my most careful plan I missed a very pleasant little dinner....

In short, unless well-cooked, I don't like Birds.

_Sara Teasdale_ (Who got Miss Rittenhouse to read it for her.

)