A bird came down the walk;
He did not know I saw;
He bit an angle-worm in halves
And ate the fellow raw.And then he drank a dew
From a convenient grass,
And then hopped sidewise to a wall,
To let a beetle pass.He glanced with rapid eyes
That hurried all around;
They looked like frightened beads, I thought;
He stirred his velvet headLike one in danger, cautious.
I offered him a crumb,
And he unrolled his feathers
And rowed him softer homeThan oars divide the ocean,
Too silver for a seam-
Or butterflies, off banks of noon,
Leap, plashless as they swim.
It is possible that in a second letter I gave more of distinct praise or encouragement, as her third is in a different mood. This was received June 8, 1862. There is something startling in its opening image; and in the yet stranger phrase that follows, where she apparently uses “mob” in the sense of chaos or bewilderment:
