Author Henry David Thoreau What time the bittern, solitary bird, Hides now her head amid the whispering fern, And not a paddock vexes all the shore ā Nor feather ruffles the incumbent air, Save where the wagtail interrupts the noon. Tags Short Poems Rate this poem Select ratingGive it 1/5Give it 2/5Give it 3/5Give it 4/5Give it 5/5 No votes yet Rate Log in or register to post comments