Burning Bush
My heart, complaining like a bird,
Kept drooping on her weary nest:
" Oh, take me out under the sky,
Find me a little rest! "
I took her out under the sky,
I climbed a straggling, sandy street,
Where little weathered houses sag,
And town and country meet,
And in the corner of a yard
Unkempt, forlorn, and winter-browned,
A single sprig of Burning Bush
Thrust up from the bare ground.
It bore no leaf as yet — one flower,
Three pointed buds of pure rose-flame:
Up whirred my heart, circled in air,
Back to my bosom came.
And that was all I showed to her —
I could not find another thing —
But, " Take me home again, " she cried,
" And I will sing and sing! "
Kept drooping on her weary nest:
" Oh, take me out under the sky,
Find me a little rest! "
I took her out under the sky,
I climbed a straggling, sandy street,
Where little weathered houses sag,
And town and country meet,
And in the corner of a yard
Unkempt, forlorn, and winter-browned,
A single sprig of Burning Bush
Thrust up from the bare ground.
It bore no leaf as yet — one flower,
Three pointed buds of pure rose-flame:
Up whirred my heart, circled in air,
Back to my bosom came.
And that was all I showed to her —
I could not find another thing —
But, " Take me home again, " she cried,
" And I will sing and sing! "
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