THE WOOD THRUSH
He has a coat of cinnamon brown,
The brightest on his head and crown,
A very low-cut vest of white
That shines like satin in the light,
And on his breast a hundred spots,
As if he wore a veil with dots;
With movement quick and full of grace,
The highbred manner of his race;
A very prince of birds is he
Whose form it is a joy to see.
And music—was there ever heard
A sweeter song from any bird?
Now clarion-like, so loud and clear,
Now like a whisper low and near,
And now, again, with rhythmic swells
And tinkling harmony of bells,
He seems to play accompaniment
Upon some harp-like instrument.
—Garrett Newkirk, in Bird-Lore.