Two summers have come and gone, offering their greenness to the plain. Two winters have laid their silvery ice across the rivers. Even the squirrels have enjoyed two full autumns of ample harvests. The speaker tallies up all this natural bounty and then turns the question directly to Nature itself: after so much plenty for everything else, couldn’t you spare just one berry for your wandering bird? There’s a quiet, hurt astonishment in that question. It feels like the voice of someone who has drifted or been displaced, watching the world's seasons cycle faithfully for others while they remain empty-handed. The mood is gentle and melancholy—a tender, almost whispered complaint of being forgotten amid so much abundance.
Twice had Summer her fair Verdure — Summary
Twice had Summer her fair Verdure Proffered to the Plain -- Twice a Winter's silver Fracture On the Rivers been --
Two full Autumns for the Squirrel Bounteous prepared -- Nature, Had'st thou not a Berry For thy wandering Bird?