Under the sun, the Kingfisher
From his high place was watching her.

He knew she came from some far place;
For when she threw her body down,
She seemed quite tired; and her face
Had dust upon it; and her gown,
That had been yellow, now was brown.

She lay near where the shadows lie
At noontime when they meet the sun.
The water floated slowly by
Her feet. Her hair was all undone,
And with the grass its gold was spun.

The trees were tall and green behind,
And hid the house upon the hill.
This place was sheltered from the wind,
And all the little leaves were still,
And every fern and daffodil.

Her face was hidden in her hands;
And through the grass, and through her hair,
The sunlight found the golden bands
About her wrists. (It was aware,
Also, that her two arms were bare.)

From his high branch, the Kingfisher
Looked down on her and pitied her.

He wondered who that she could be,―
This dear, strange lady, who had come
To vex him with her misery;
And why her days were wearisome,
And what far country was her home.

Her home must be far off indeed,
Wherein such bitter grief could grow.
Had there been no one there to plead
For her when they had wronged her so?
Did none her perfect honor know?

Was there no sword or pennoned lance
Omnipotent in hall or field
For her complete deliverance?
To make them cry, “We yield! we yield”?
Were not her colors on some shield?

Had he been there, the Kingfisher,
How he had fought and died for her!

A little yellow bird flew by;
And where the water-weeds were still,
Hovered a great blue dragon-fly;
Small fishes set the streams a-thrill.

The Kingfisher forgot to kill.

He only thought of her who lay
Upon the ground and was so fair,―
As fair as she who came one day
And sat long with her lover there.
The same gold sun was in her hair.

They had come down, because of love,
From the great house on the hillside:
This lady had no share thereof,
For now this place was sanctified!
Had this fair lady’s lover died?

Was this dear lady’s lover dead?
Had she come here to wait until
Her heart and soul were comforted?
Why was it not within her will
To seek the lady on the hill?

She, too, was lonely; for he had
Beheld her just this morning, when
Her last kiss made her lover glad
Who went to fight the heathen-men:
(He said he would return again!)

That lady would have charity
He knew, because her love was great;
And this one—fairer even than she—
Should enter in her open gate
And be no more disconsolate!

Under the sun, the Kingfisher
Knew no one else might comfort her.