Explore "Nest Eggs" by Robert Louis Stevenson on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Birds all the sunny day / Flutter and quarrel / Here in the arbor-like / Tent of the laurel.
Here in the fork / The brown nest is seated; / Four little blue eggs / The mother keeps heated.
While we stand watching her, / Staring like gabies, / Safe in each egg are the / Bird's little babies.
Soon the frail eggs they shall / Chip, and upspringing / Make all the April woods / Merry with singing.
Younger than we are, / O children, and frailer, / Soon in blue air they'll be, / Singer and sailor.
We, so much older, / Taller and stronger, / We shall look down on the / Birdies no longer.
They shall go flying / With musical speeches / High over head in the / Tops of the beeches.
In spite of our wisdom / And sensible talking, / We on our feet must go / Plodding and walking.