The Death of the Blue Bird
Madge Elliott. January 27, 1876. Fancier's Journal 3(4): 42.
- "He is dead!" said the Wind,
- "Oh, who?" asked the Rose,
- "The prince of the wildwood — the Blue Bird."
- "And he died," said the Wind,
- "Oh, why?" asked the Rose,
- "Because she he loved was no true bird."
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- "Alas!" sighed the Rose,
- "Ah, me I " said the Wind,
- "So handsome, so tuneful, so clever."
- "And she?" asked the Rose,
- "False one!" said the Wind,
- "In the maple chirps gaily as ever."
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- "And he lies," said the Wind,
- "Oh, where? " asked the Rose,
- "At the foot of the oak, in the clover."
- "And the grass," said the Wind,
- "Droops low," wept the Rose,
- "O'er the form of the ill-fated lover."
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- "Oh, list!" said the Wind,
- "I hear," sighed the Rose,
- "The grave-digging beetles are coming."
- "And that sound?" asked the Wind,
- "Is a hymn," wept the Rose,
- "That the Bee folks are solemnly humming."
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- "They are there, " said the Wind,
- "And at work?" asked the Rose,
- "Yes, the ground very softly they're breaking."
- "They are kind," said the Wind,
- "Most kind," wept the Rose,
- "Such a pretty wee grave to be making."
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- "They are done," said the Wind,
- "And I'll fling," said the Wind, "A rose leaf or two where he's lying."
- "Take myself," sighed the Rose,
- "All myself," wept the Rose, "He is dead, and for him — I am dying!"