. Birds : illustrated by color photography : a monthly serial .. . lady who loves birdshas said some very nice thingsabout me in a book called BirdWays. Another lady haswritten a beautiful poem aboutmy singing. Ask your mammaor teacher the names of theseladies. Here is the poem : rjlHERES a merry brown tnrusn sitting up in a He is singing to rne ! He is singing to me !-^ And what does he say—little girl, little boy ?Oh, the worlds running over with joy! Hush! Look ! In my tree, I am as happy as happy can the brown thrush keeps singing, A nest, do you see,And five eggs, hid by me
. Birds : illustrated by color photography : a monthly serial .. . lady who loves birdshas said some very nice thingsabout me in a book called BirdWays. Another lady haswritten a beautiful poem aboutmy singing. Ask your mammaor teacher the names of theseladies. Here is the poem : rjlHERES a merry brown tnrusn sitting up in a He is singing to rne ! He is singing to me !-^ And what does he say—little girl, little boy ?Oh, the worlds running over with joy! Hush! Look ! In my tree, I am as happy as happy can the brown thrush keeps singing, A nest, do you see,And five eggs, hid by me in the big cherry tree ?Dont meddle, dont touch—little girl, little boy—Or the world will lose some of its joy ! Now I am glad ! now I am free ! And I always shall be, If you never bring sorrow to the merry brown thrush sings away in the treeTo you and to me—to you and to me ;And he sings all the day—little girl, little boy—Oh, the worlds running over with joy! But long it wont be, Dont you know? dont you see? Unless were good as good can THE BLUE BIRD. Drifting down the first warm wind That thrills the earliest days of spring, The Bluebird seeks our maple grovesAnd charms them into tasselling. He sings, and his is Natures voice— A gush of melody sincereFrom that great fount of harmony Which thaws and runs when Spring is here. Short is his song, but strangely sweet To ears aweary of the lowDull tramps of Winters sullen feet, Sandalled in ice and muffled in snow. Think, every morning, when the sun peeps throughThe dim, leaf-latticed windows of the grove, How jubilant the happy birds renewTheir old, melodious madrigals of love ! And when you think of this, remember, too,Tis always morning somewhere, and above The awakening continents, from shore to shore, Somewhere the birds are singing evermore. 1 Think of your woods and orchards without birds !Of empty nests that cling to boughs and beamsAs in an idiots brain remembered words Hang empty mid the cobweb
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Photo credit: © Reading Room 2020 / Alamy / Afripics
License: Licensed
Model Released: No
Keywords: ., boo, bookcentury1800, booksubjectbirds, booksubjectnaturalhistory
