On A Bird Singing In Its Sleep Poem By Robert Frost,
A bIrd half wakened ill the lunar noon,
Sang halfway through its httle Inborn tune.
Partly because it sang but once all nIght
And that from no especial bush’s height;
Partly because it sang venailoquist
And had the inspiration to desist
Almost before the prick of hostile ears,
It ventured less in penl than appears.
It could not have come down to us so far
Through the interstices of thIngs ajar
On the long bead chaIn of repeated bIrth
To be a bird while we are men on earth
If sInging out of sleep and dream that way
Had made it much more easily a prey.