The Pond

One day in early spring, a young reed-warbler sat in a bush in Italy and hung his beak. This was not because he really had anything to complain of. The sun was shining there were flies in plenty and no one was doing him harm. A little while before a pretty girl with jet-black eyes had sat under the bush and listened to his song and kissed her hand to him. He was tired of the Italian flies. He had a feeling in his wings as if he could do hundreds of miles at a stretch. There were notes in his throat which he was unable to get out and his little heart was filled with a longing which he could not understand and which would have made him cry .