he summer nests uncovered by autumn wind,
Some torn, others dislodged, all dark,
Everyone sees them: low or high in tree,
Or hedge, or single bush, they hang like a mark.
Since there's no need of eyes to see them withI cannot help a little
That I missed most, even at eye's level,
The leaves blew off and made the seeing no game.'Tis a light pang.
I like to see the
Still in their places, now first known,
At home and by far roads.
Boys knew them not,
Whatever jays and squirrels may have done.
And most I like the winter nests
That leaves and berries fell into:
Once a dormouse dined there on hazel-nuts,
And grass and goose-grass seeds found soil and grew.
