I

First of the insect choir, in the spring We hear his faint voice fluttering in the grass, Beneath some blossom’s rosy covering, Or frond of fern, upon a wildwood pass. When in the marsh, in clamorous orchestras, The shrill hylodes pipe; when, in the haw’s Bee-swarming blooms, or tasseling sassafras, Sweet threads of silvery song the sparrow draws, Bow-like, athwart the vibrant atmosphere,-- Like some dim dream low-breathed in slumber’s ear,-- We hear his Cheer, cheer, cheer.