Tree with a Bird in it — The Sighing Tree by Margaret Widdemer

THE SIGHING TREE

The folk of the wood called me-- "There sits a golden bird Upon your mother's pear-tree--" But I never said a word.

The Sleepy People whispered-- "The bird is singing now."

But I felt not then like leaving bed Nor listening beneath the bough.

But the wronged world beat my portals-- "Come out or be sore oppressed!"

So I threw a stone at the grackle And my throbbing heart had rest.

[Illustration] _Richard Le Gallienne_ (Advancing with a dreamy air of there still being a Yellow Book.

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