Warbler Weather

The oak-leaves yet are doubting Between the pink and green; Half smiling and half pouting Our shy New England May Touches each happy spray, And at her call the runaway Warbler tribes convene.

The gold-flecked Myrtle flitters, The Redstart dives and spins, The gay Magnolia glitters, The little Rubycrown Twinkles up and down; The fairy folk have come to town With all their violins.

Our garden party sparkles With varied warbler wear, The olive suit that darkles To umber, russet crest, Blue tippet, crocus vest; New fashions come with every guest, Winged jewels of the air.

Their treetop conversation Is sweetest of the sweet, With flashes of flirtation As gallants bow and dip. "Witch-e-wee!" "Cher!" "Chip-chip!" Too elfin fine for human lip Their dainty: "Tzeet! tzeet! tzeet!"

When we shall walk together In Paradise, Most Dear, May it be warbler weather, Divine with flutterings Of exquisite wee wings, Our own familiar angelings That piped God's praises here.