Black hair you’d say she had

Black hair you’d say she had, or rather
Black crest, black nape and black lore-feather
Above the eye; eye black, and ring
About it white, white breast and wing;
Soft bill; (no predatory thing—
Three claws in front and one in back
But sparrow-fingered, for attack
Unfitted)—yet the questioning,
The desperate notes I did not hear,
Being pitched too high for human ear,
But seen so plainly in the eye
She turned upon me urgently
And watched me with as she went by
And close before me following,
Perching, and ever peering back,
Uttered, I know, some desperate cry,
I might have answered, had I heard:—
Ah, no; ah, no; poor female bird
With unmelodious throat and wing:
Sit on your eggs, by crimson king
Or gold made fertile; hatch them, bring
Beauty to birth, that it may sing
And leave you; be not haggard; cling
To what you have: a coloured thing
That grows more coloured every spring,
And whilst you warm his eggs, no lack
Will let you suffer: when they crack—
Feed them, and feed yourself; whilst he
Hangs from a thistle drunkenly,
Or loops his little flights between
The maple and the evergreen.
Utter your querulous chirp or quack;
And if his voice be anything,
Why, shut your lids and hear him sing,
And when he wants you, take him back.