EVEN among the tits and wrens
And birds of scanty inches,
Small fowl of shaded forest glens,
The lesser warblers and their hens
And little chats and finches
I hold an unassuming place,
In lowly regions winging;
So, few remark my nimble grace
And fewer praise my singing.
Where sunshafts pierce the denser scrub,
And tangled shadows blacken
Green sward, I flit from shrub to shrub
To seek the appetizing grub,
And dance amid the bracken;
Singing my little song the while
For those who care to listen,
While high above the soft skies smile
And gum-leaves glint and glisten.
No noisy chorister am I
Bedecked in gaudy vesture;
On no wide venturings I fly
'Mid tree-tops towering to the sky.
Less lordly is my gesture.
I lodge and labour with the meek
In secret ways and scented,
And nimbly play at hide-and-seek
By ferny dale and friendly creek,
Unfamed, but well contented.
The Scrub Wren
by C J Dennis (1876-1938)
The Singing Garden (1935) p.75.