The hermit thrush

F· Schuyler Mathews
L·PRANG·&·C o :
Boston:
The Hermit Thrush
The sweet fresh air of the new springtime
Breathes o’er the woods where the blue hills climb
Aloft from a belt of spruce and pine
That hides their feet in a dark green line.
On the edge of the wood where the white birch trees
WHERE THE BLUE HILLS CLIMB ALOFT FROM A BELT OF SPRUCE AND PINE
Nod and bend in the passing breeze,
A hermit lives who never is seen