How glisten the eyes of the happy leaves! Pour, pour of the wine of thy heart, O Nature! By the brimming soul of every creature!— Tongues, tongues for my joy, for my joy! more tongues!— Oh, thanks to the thrush on the tree, To the sky, and to all earth's blooms and songs! They utter the heart in me. David Atwood Wasson [1823-1887] MY THRUSH ALL through the sultry hours of June, God's poet, hid in foliage green, Sing on, dear Thrush, amid the limes! Nor from these confines wander out, Commits all day his murderous crimes: May I not dream God sends thee there, Even to rebuke my earthlier rhymes The Black Vulture Closer to God art thou than I: His minstrel thou, whose brown wings fly Ah, never may thy music die! 1581 Sing on, dear Thrush, amid the limes! "BLOW SOFTLY, THRUSH" BLOW Softly, thrush, upon the hush And build the green-hid waterfall I hated for its beauty, and all The unloved vernal rapture and flush, Delicate thrush! Spring's at the prime, the world's in chime, And my love is listening nearly; O lightly blow the ancient woe, Flute of the wood, blow clearly! Blow, she is here, and the world all dear, Melting flute of the hush, Old sorrow estranged, enriched, sea-changed, Breathe it, veery thrush! Joseph Russell Taylor [1868 THE BLACK VULTURE ALOOF upon the day's immeasured dome, When, poised above the caldrons of the storm, Their hearts, contemptuous of death, shall dare His roads between the thunder and the sun. George Sterling (1869– WILD GEESE How oft against the sunset sky or moon I watched that moving zigzag of spread wings In unforgotten Autumns gone too soon, In unforgotten Springs! Creatures of desolation, far they fly Above all lands bound by the curling foam; They know the clouds and night and starry hosts Dark flying rune against the western glow— Symbol of coming Springs! Frederick Peterson (1859 TO A WATERFOWL WHITHER, midst falling dew, While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue Thy solitary way? Vainly the fowler's eye Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong, As, darkly painted on the crimson sky, Thy figure floats along. Seek'st thou the plashy brink Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide, There is a Power whose care Teaches thy way along that pathless coast,- Lone wandering, but not lost. The Wood-Dove's Note All day thy wings have fanned At that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere, And soon that toil shall end; Soon shalt thou find a summer home, and rest, Thou'rt gone, the abyss of heaven He who, from zone to zone, 1583 Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight, In the long way that I must tread alone, Will lead my steps aright. William Cullen Bryant [1794-1878] THE WOOD-DOVE'S NOTE MEADOWS with yellow cowslips all aglow, "O where! where ! where !" Straight with old Omar in the almond grove "O where! where! where !" New madrigals in each soft pulsing throat- O where! where ! where !" THE SEA SONG FOR ALL SEAS, ALL SHIPS I TO-DAY a rude brief recitative, Of ships sailing the seas, each with its special flag or shipsignal, Of unnamed heroes in the ships-of waves spreading and spreading far as the eye can reach, Of dashing spray, and the winds piping and blowing, Fitful, like a surge. Of sea-captains young or old, and the mates, and of all intrepid sailors, Of the few, very choice, taciturn, whom fate can never surprise nor death dismay, Picked sparingly without noise by thee, old ocean, chosen by thee, Thou sea that pickest and cullest the race in time, and unit est nations, Suckled by thee, old husky nurse, embodying thee, (Ever the heroes on water or on land, by ones or twos appear ing, Ever the stock preserved and never lost, though rare, enough for seed preserved.) II Flaunt out, O sea, your separate flags of nations! Flaunt out visible as ever the various ship-signals! But do you reserve especially for yourself and for the soul of man one flag above all the rest, A spiritual woven signal for all nations, emblem of man clate above death, |