| Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917. |
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| 347. Hawks |
| | | By James Stephens |
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| AND as we walked the grass was faintly stirred; | |
| We did not speak—there was no need to speak. | |
| Above our heads there flew a little bird, | |
| A silent one who feared that we might seek | |
| Her hard-hid nest. | 5 |
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| Poor little frightened one! | |
| If we had found your nest that sunny day | |
| We would have passed it by; we would have gone | |
| And never looked or frightened you away. | |
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| O little bird! there’s many have a nest, | 10 |
| A hard-found, open place, with many a foe; | |
| And hunger and despair and little rest, | |
| And more to fear than you can know. | |
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| Shield the nests where’er they be, | |
| On the ground or on the tree; | 15 |
| Guard the poor from treachery. | |
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