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Katharine Tynan - Starling
Work rating: Low

The starling in the ivy now,
     For to amuse his dear,
Mimics the dog, the cat, the cow,
     Blackbird and Chanticleer.

The starling`s an accomplished mime:
     Between his love-making
He solaces her brooding-time
     By many a madcap thing.

He is the saw, the spade, the scythe,
     He rings the dinner bell;
Chuckles of laughter, small and blithe,
     Of self-laudations tell.

Now by the battle-field he mocks
     As though `twere but a game,
Thunder with which the belfry rocks
     And the great bursts of flame.

Till when the merriment will pall
     He turns to love again,
Calling his love-sick gurgling call
     Above the dying men.

Who knows what dream the starling weaves
     Of boyhood, soft and clean?
A small room under golden eaves
     To which the sun looks in.

The starling`s talking in the thatch,
     Bidding the boy arise;
And the door`s opening on the latch
     To show -- his mother`s eyes.
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