I like the tune, I like the words;
They seem so true, so free from art,
So friendly, and so full of heart,
That if but one of all the birds
Could be my comrade everywhere,
My little brother of the air,
I'd choose the song-sparrow, my dear,
Because he'd bless me, every year,
With "_Sweet--sweet--sweet--very merry cheer._"

1895.



THE MARYLAND YELLOW-THROAT


When May bedecks the naked trees
With tassels and embroideries,
And many blue-eyed violets beam
Along the edges of the stream,
I hear a voice that seems to say,
Now near at hand, now far away,
"_Witchery--witchery--witchery._"

An incantation so serene,
So innocent, befits the scene:
There's magic in that small bird's note--
See, there he flits--the Yellow-throat;