The White Heron

In the greenest mazes of the woods, There lived a great white heron. Large and lonely, nothing could persuade Him to come and rest, And as he searched the seas— His throne was lost by night, He knew not how he fell; But in the morn, he was found safe and sound, High bare-headed, proud, and happy, With the flush of wild sunshine on his wings.

He had lost his home and family, Still, he drifted, soaring in the light, Where the calm air wrapped him in gentleness, Feeling the health of freedom In his form, as he floated out of sight; Realizing, alone, how far he roamed.

In the night-mist he remained silent, Concealed by the low-hanging stars; A mere statue beneath the night sky, The moon smiled gently on the wild. Yet the morning sun revealed his grace, And so he soared toward the light.

• Sarah Orne Jewett