. Through the year with birds and poets [poems]; . lovely plumage we may wear Must these fair, pathetic creatures die? Let the tawny squaws themselves admire,Decked with feathers, — we can wiser be. I beseech you, boatmen, do not fire ! Stain no more with blood the tranquil sea. Celia Thaxter. WINTER Thou singest alone on the bare wintry bough,As if Spring, with its leaves, were around thee now ;And its voice, that was heard in the laughing rill,And the breeze, as it whispered a?er meadow and hill,Still fell on thine ear, as it murmured alongTo join the sweet tide of thine own gushing
. Through the year with birds and poets [poems]; . lovely plumage we may wear Must these fair, pathetic creatures die? Let the tawny squaws themselves admire,Decked with feathers, — we can wiser be. I beseech you, boatmen, do not fire ! Stain no more with blood the tranquil sea. Celia Thaxter. WINTER Thou singest alone on the bare wintry bough,As if Spring, with its leaves, were around thee now ;And its voice, that was heard in the laughing rill,And the breeze, as it whispered a?er meadow and hill,Still fell on thine ear, as it murmured alongTo join the sweet tide of thine own gushing on, though its sweetness was lost on the blast,And the storm has not heeded thy song as it passed;Yet its music awoke, in a heart that was near,A thought, whose remembrance will ever prove dear ;Though the brook may be frozen, though silent its voice,And the gales through the meadotvs no longer rejoice,Still I felt, as my ear caught thy glad note of glee,That my heart in lifes winter might carol like thee. The Winter Bird. —Jones Very. 272. DECEMBER In the birches, on the grassesStiffly rising through the snow crust,On the slope of yonder sand-bankWhere the snow has slipped and wasted,Rest a flock of trustful strangers,lisping words of gentle greeting,Rest and find the suns rays warming,Rest and find their food abundant,Resting, sing of weary journeysFrom a Northland cold and distant. The Red-Poll Linnet. —Frank Bolles. I hear no more the robins summer song Through the gray network of the wintry woods : Only the cawing crows that all day longClamor about the windy solitudes. December. —Christopher P. Cranch. 274 WITH BIRDS AND POETS 275 WINTER COMRADES Plume and go, ye summer folk;Fly from Winters killing stroke,Bluebird, sparrow, thrush, and swallow,Wild geese from the marshes follow,Wood-dove from the lonesome hollow,Rise, and follow South — all follow ! Now I greet ye, hardy tribes,Snowy owl, and night-black crowStartling with your wild halloo ;Blue-jay screaming
Size: 1210px × 2065px
Photo credit: © Reading Room 2020 / Alamy / Afripics
License: Licensed
Model Released: No
Keywords: ., bookcentury1900, bookdecade1900, booksubjectame, booksubjectbirds
