Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.

Hawks

AND as we walked the grass was faintly stirred;

We did not speak—there was no need to speak.

Above our heads there flew a little bird,

A silent one who feared that we might seek

Her hard-hid nest.

Poor little frightened one!

If we had found your nest that sunny day

We would have passed it by; we would have gone

And never looked or frightened you away.

O little bird! there’s many have a nest,

A hard-found, open place, with many a foe;

And hunger and despair and little rest,

And more to fear than you can know.

Shield the nests where’er they be,

On the ground or on the tree;

Guard the poor from treachery.