IN the quiet noonday heat
    Creeping high aloft
Nimbly, on prehensile feet,
    Calling very soft;
Else, among the seeding grass,
    Feeding by a tree
Where the soft cloud shadows pass
    Not more silently.

Now, with shrill and sudden din,
    Swift, as danger comes,
Flashing like a javelin
    Past the sunlit gums;
Rocketing thro’ inlaced limbs,
    A living, darting flame;
While, above, the brown hawk skims
    Avid for his game.

Forest dweller, crimson clad,
    Bright bird of the sun;
When the winter days grow sad
    And the seeds are done,
Where the lonely farm-house stands
    Cautiously come I
And about your harvest lands
    Pause a while to spy.

Prove you kindly in the end.
    Haply I shall stay;
And you have me for a friend
    Thro’ the winter day.
Toddling round the garden bed,
    Swaggering thro’ the grass,
Lifting up a crimson head
    To watch you as you pass.