I 
Thou winged symbol of the quiet mind,  
Thou straying violet, flying flower of spring,  
Heaven-hued and heaven-hearted! Thou dost sing  
As thou some sweet remembered thought didst find,  
And, counseling with thyself in musing kind,  
Didst softly say it over. Thy swift wing  
Knows but a quiet rhythm; thou a thing  
Of peace, to passion innocently blind. 

Thy russet breast means married love, long hope,  
Sheltered experience, small and sweet and sure.  
All of the brown earth’s natural purity;  
But something heavenly, beyond our scope,  
Steeped thy blue wing in color strange and pure,  
Intense and holy as the mirrored sky. 
                                  II 
Pulse of the gorgeous world, jubilant, strong,—
Thy song a whistled splendor, and thy coat  
A fiery song! From thy triumphant throat  
How I have heard it pouring, loud and long.  
Whipping the air as with a scarlet thong—  
The joyous lashing of thy triple note  
Which all the tamer noonday noises smote  
And clove a royal pathway through the throng! 

Thou singest joy of battle, joy of fame.  
Glory, and love of woman; joy of strife 
With life’s wild fates; and scorn’st, with jocund breath  
For prudence’ sake to dim thy feathered flame—  
Thou heart of fire, epitome of life,  
Full-throated flouter of vindictive death! 
                                  III 
And lo, among the leafy, hidden groves  
Within my heart, they both do flit and nest,  
Saintly blue wing and vaunting scarlet crest,  
Yea, all of life and all its myriad loves.  
Even as Nature holds them, sifts and proves  
And balances, so shall my soul find rest  
In Her large tolerance, which without rest  
Or lagging, toward some wide conclusion moves. 

So, though I weary sometimes of the stress,  
Leave me not, little lovers of the air.  
Dearest of Nature’s fine antitheses!  
Thou of the musing voice and heavenly dress.  
Thou, royal firebrand,—neither could I spare.  
My scarlet Passion, nor my winged Peace!
 

Karle Wilson Baker (1878 – 1960) was An American writer.

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