To a Stray Fowl by Henry David Thoreau — Read

Poor bird! destined to lead thy life / Far in the adventurous west, / And here to be debarred to-night / From thy accustomed nest;

Must thou fall back upon old instinct now -- / Well-nigh extinct under man's fickle care?

Did heaven bestow its quenchless inner light / So long ago, for thy small want to-night?

Why stand'st upon thy toes to crow so late?

The moon is deaf to thy low feathered fate;

Or dost thou think so to possess the night, / And people the drear dark with thy brave sprite?

And now with anxious eye thou look'st about, / While the relentless shade draws on its veil, / For some sure shelter from approaching dews, / And the insidious step of nightly foes.

I fear imprisonment has dulled thy wit, / Or ingrained servitude extinguished it -- / But no -- dim memory of the days of yore, / By Brahmapootra and the Jumna's shore, / Where thy proud race flew swiftly o'er the heath, / And sought its food the jungle's shade beneath, / Has taught thy wings to seek yon friendly trees, / As erst by Indus' bank and far Ganges.