55011: She dotes

<p dir="ltr"> She dotes on what the wild birds say<br> Or hint or mock at, night and day,---<br> Thrush, blackbird, all that sing in May,<br> And songless plover,<br> Hawk, heron, owl, and woodpecker.<br> They never say a word to her<br> About her lover.<br> She laughs at them for childishness,<br> She cries at them for carelessness<br> Who see her going loverless<br> Yet sing and chatter<br> Just as when he was not a ghost,<br> Nor ever ask her what she has lost<br> Or what is the matter.<br> Yet she has fancied blackbirds hide<br> A secret, and that thrushes chide<br> Because she thinks death can divide<br> Her from her lover:<br> And she has slept, trying to translate<br> The word the cuckoo cries to his mate<br> Over and over.<br></p>