A Bird came down the Walk -

He did not know I saw -

He bit an Angleworm in halves

And ate the fellow, raw,

 

And then he drank a Dew

From a convenient Grass -

And then hopped sidewise to the Wall

To let a Beetle pass -

 

He glanced with rapid eyes

That hurried all around -

They looked like frightened Beads, I thought -

He stirred his Velvet Head

 

Like one in danger, Cautious,

I offered him a Crumb

And he unrolled his feathers

And rowed him softer home -

 

Than Oars divide the Ocean,

Too silver for a seam -

Or Butterflies, off Banks of Noon

Leap, plashless as they swim.

 

A typical exemplar for Dickinson's nature verse. This poem depicts the nature's superior self-sufficiency and man's continuous yen to get into the world of nature. At frist, the narrator encounters a bird and looks at it on the walk as a curious observer. Unaware of her existence, the bird eats a worm, drinks a dew from the grass, and steps aside politely to let a beetle pass as a gentleman. 

 

The bird then senses something is not right and looks around as if in fright. And she approaches the bird and offers it a crumb but it flies away. A magnificent sight of grace. The bird’s flight through the air is softer than that of a boat being rowed in a seamless ocean with oars; the oars’ action, like the bird’s wings, are so small and “silver” in the expanse of water and sky, that they do not even leave a “seam” behind to show they once moved through that space. In a final exquisitely lovely image, it is even smoother than the flight of butterflies that jump into the rivers of “Noon” swimming and splashing about.