Dora Sigerson Shorter
Comments about Dora Sigerson Shorter
A Bird From The West
At the grey dawn, amongst the falling leaves,
A little bird outside my window swung,
High on a topmost branch he trilled his song,
And ' Ireland! Ireland! Ireland!' ever sung.
“Take me,' I cried, 'back to my island home;
Sweet bird, my soul shall ride between thy wings ';
For my lone spirit wide his pinions spread, '
And home and home and home he ever sings.