J. M. Barrie,
The Little White Bird — Chapter 7…
(1902)
“ I seem to remember carrying him that evening to the window with uncommon tenderness (following the setting sun that was to take him away) , and telling him with not unnatural bitterness that he had got to leave me because another child was in need of all his pretty things; and as the sun, his true father, lapt him in its dancing arms, he sent his love to a lady of long ago whom he called by the sweetest of names, not knowing in his innocence that the little white birds are the birds that never have a mother. ”
