The Prophetess

Now shall I sing
That pretty thing
The Mocking-Bird’? And sing it straight did she.
I had no cause
To think it was
A Mocking-bird in truth that sang to me.

Not even the glance
She threw askance
Foretold to me, nor did the tune or rhyme,
That the words bore
A meaning more
Than that they were a ditty of the time.

But after years
Of hopes and fears,
And all they bring, and all they take away,
I found I had heard
The Mocking-bird
In person singing there to me that day.