Hear the catbird whistle shrill
In the bushes by the rill,
Where the violets toss and twinkle as they sprinkle vale and hill;

Feel the tangled meadow-grass
On my bare feet as I pass;
See the clover bending over in a dew-bespangled mass;
See the cottage by the shore,
With the pansy beds before,
And the old familiar places and the faces at the door.

[Illustration]

Oh, the skies of blissful blue,
Oh, the woodland's verdant hue,--
Oh, the lazy days of boyhood, when the world was fair and new!
Still to me your tale is told
In the summer's sunbeam's gold,
And my truant fancy straying, goes a-Maying as of old.

* * * * *

BIRDS'-NESTING TIME

The spring sun flashes a rapier thrust
Through the dingy school-house pane,
A shining scimitar, free from rust,
That cuts the cloud of the drifting dust,
And scatters a golden rain;
And the boy at the battered desk within