In the quiet noonday heat Creeping high aloft Nimbly, on prehensile feet, Calling very soft; Else, among the seeding grass, Feeding by a tree Where the soft cloud shadows pass Not more silently. Now, with shrill and sudden din, Swift, as danger comes, Flashing like a javelin Past the sunlit gums; Rocketing thro’ inlaced limbs, A living, darting flame; While, above, the brown hawk skims Avid for his game. Forest dweller, crimson clad, Bright bird of the sun; When the winter days grow sad And the seeds are done, Where the lonely farm-house stands Cautiously come I And about your harvest lands Pause a while to spy. Prove you kindly in the end. Haply I shall stay; And you have me for a friend Thro’ the winter day. Toddling round the garden bed, Swaggering thro’ the grass, Lifting up a crimson head To watch you as you pass.