The Woodpecker

A woodpecker yonder Is drilling, drilling, With a dull, dull sound That echoes through the stillness. — A rhythmical lace In the woven woods, A chase of silence, Tripping up the soft and leaf-strewn Mossy path of the waning day.

It makes the sky tremble And the trees cry out In sad, fine notes from their depths— The sound of a discontented heart. And from my perch, With wondering eyes uplifted, I glance at Nature’s toil, Watching for the slow descent Of the twinkling stars.

But through all the beauty— The chill of that penetrating sound— It fills the calm relief with thoughts Of hopeless wanderings, And lingering sadness beyond.

• Thomas Wentworth Higginson