A Bird, came down the Walk –
He did not know I saw –
He bit an Angleworm in halves
And ate the fellow, raw.

And then he drank a Dew
From a convenient Grass –
And then hopped sidewise to the Wall
And scarce an inch from my face –

And he unrolled his feathers
And rowed them soft – like Boars –
And just like him – I’d hurry
For he has no deceit –

But he seems no less than Nature
And kicks the tall green Grass.

For his hands, as sippers have –
The Grass would let him pass –

And I left him, when I saw
This little Bird of his –
I could not call him mine –

He flew the way he lifted
And left no trace at all –

I have seen him further –
Than anyone before –
And I gave up my stay –

Yet I would not be sorry
Should he return again –

For he came down the Walk –
And surely heart’s in play –

I, also, would not know
Ere left him, but aside –

So I turned, my way, as still
As any Bird that flew –

In this little piece of nature
To speak of truth and play –

It is enough for one, alone,
But still – he passed my way.

• Emily Dickinson