I lost a little feather in a gust—
A downy thing of white and brilliant red,
Swept out from its protected dashboard spot
Where it laid nestled with a thoughtless trust. 
In a sudden updraft, off it sped,
And in a second’s passing, it was not—
Even as it had been, countless weeks—
The diadem in my trove of avian jewels,
The poppet of the plain-and-spangled lot!

Now in a flash, the rest seemed dull and bleak,
And I, as fragile as a dandled fool
To grieve this little grace that came unsought.
For many other treasures had been whirled
Away on gusts of fancy or of fate:
A hope, a plan, an article of faith—
Then heavier things: assumptions, coolly hurled
Out of mind, despite their ponderous weight!