. A year with the birds . CHIPPING SPARROW The Ground Robin Chewink, Towhee or Charee 93 The Ground Robin, Che wink, Towheeor Charee Im a puzzling bird; tis hard to tellJust who I am, till you know me well. The orioles here! the children does not arrive till the first of May. I come in April, when days are cold,And stay until forests are red and gold. I welcome the early blossoms fair,And linger till asters are shining there. Im not Robin Redbreast, as one might think,—Though Im called Ground Robin, or justChewink,— For Im rufous and black, with a breast of white,And two ashen tail-feat
. A year with the birds . CHIPPING SPARROW The Ground Robin Chewink, Towhee or Charee 93 The Ground Robin, Che wink, Towheeor Charee Im a puzzling bird; tis hard to tellJust who I am, till you know me well. The orioles here! the children does not arrive till the first of May. I come in April, when days are cold,And stay until forests are red and gold. I welcome the early blossoms fair,And linger till asters are shining there. Im not Robin Redbreast, as one might think,—Though Im called Ground Robin, or justChewink,— For Im rufous and black, with a breast of white,And two ashen tail-feathers showing in flight. When I speak to my mate, I say, Towhee?Or call her in French, Cherie? Cherie? To the lovers of spring who seek for a sign,I chant this message, line by line: Chip-chur! Pussy-Pussy-Willow!Chip-chur! Come-and-get-your-fill-oh! A. E. B. 94. TOWHEE PART THREE The Later Spring Birds 95 The Migration of Birds The night comes on apace. The rain,The warm, still rain, falls soft again,I feel the breath of growing things;I seem to hear the whir of wingsOf countless birds, just marshalingTheir ranks for long, long journeying. The songsters bold that fly by gleaming waters wing their timid fellows shun the light—God guides them through the dusky every heart holds home-love strongEnough to brave the distance long. A. E. B. 97 The Tree Swallow First of the swallow host they speed To the North, by rivers and silver shores;Lustrous green like a marshs reed, Fleecy white like the cloud that soarsOver these shimmering, flashing things That sweetly warble in circle about with their powerful wings Till they seek their nests in a hollow tree. A. E. B. 98
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1900, bookdecade1910, booksubjectbirds, bookyear1916
