THE CRANE by John Shaw Neilson

The bird is my neighbour, a whimsical fellow and dim;
There is in the lake a nobility falling on him.


The bird is a noble, he turns to the sky for a theme,
And the ripples are thoughts coming out to the edge of a dream.


The bird is both ancient and excellent, sober and wise,
But he never could spend all the love that is sent for his eyes.


He bleats no instruction, he is not an arrogant drummer;
His gown is simplicity - blue as the smoke of the summer.


How patient he is as he puts out his wings for the blue!
His eyes are as old as the twilight, and calm as the dew.


The bird is my neighbour, he leaves not a claim for a sigh,
He moves as the guest of the sunlight - he roams in the sky.


The bird is a noble, he turns to the sky for a theme,
And the ripples are thoughts coming out to the edge of a dream.