A Song of Wings

Birds are such joyous things! Now, who would not follow The silver gull, the oriole, the purple winged swallow, Seaward and home again, over hill and hollow!

Blue heron, moon-entranced, where may you be going? What is that far call you hear? Are fairy flutes a-blowing? Tell me what it is you know, that I'm not knowing!

Robin of the tinted dawn, why are you singing? With madrigal and roundelay the high trees are ringing! Why all this wild delight the daybreak is bringing?

Little grey-bird passing by, you're a sober fellow; Never a jester touch on you of pied red and yellow; Yet all the merriest tunes you pipe—old tunes and mellow.

Hermit thrush, dear hermit thrush, what are you saying In that darling way of yours when the day is greying? Chant you a vesper hymn? Mayhap, are you praying?

White owl with folded wings, why so unblinking? Do you watch for the little moon? Tell me what you're thinking, Hidden in the silver leaves when the sun is sinking.

Wild goose! With summer days a rendezvous you're keeping! But no sound of earth breaks through, no hint of weeping, In those deep blue silences your wings are sweeping.

Whip-poor-will, your free cry sets the heart to aching; But there is star-dust on your wings! New roads you're taking, And you know a magic the wood-gods are making!

Birds are such joyous things! Now, who would not follow The shining gull, the oriole, the purple-winged swallow, Seaward and home again, over hill and hollow!