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Hilda Conkling

Bird of Paradise

I was walking in a meadow of Paradise

When I heard a singing

Far away and sweet

Like a Roman harp,

Sweet and murmurous

Like the wind,

Far and soft

Like the fir trees.

It will not change a song

If the bird has a golden crest;

No feathers of blue and rose-red

Could make a song.

I have known in my dreaming

A gray bird that sang

While all the fields listened!

The Bird of Paradise is like flowers of many trees

Blooming on one:

I saw him in the meadow,

But it was the gray bird I heard singing

Beyond and far.