THEY SEE THE BIRDIE
(Mrs. Conkling points maternally.)
Oh, Hilda! see the little Bird!
If you will watch, upon my word
He will come out; a Veery[ 1] he
As like an Oboe as can be:
He shall be wingèd, with a tail,
Mayhap a Beak him shall not fail!
And I will tell him, "Birdie, oh,
This is my Hilda, you must know—
And oh, what joy, if you but knew—
She shall make poetry on you!"
(The Birdie obliges, whereupon Hilda recites obediently, while her mother, concealing herself completely behind the bird, takes dictation.)
Oh, my lovely Mother,
That is a Bird:
Sitting on a Tree.
I am a Little Girl
I see the Bird,
The Bird sees me.
Bird!
Color of Grass!
I love my Mother
More than I do You!
[!--Note--] 1 ([return])
Note by the Collator: I do not pretend to explain the veery-complex of American poets. They all seemed possessed to rub it into the poor bird that he wasn't one.
Theodosia Garrison
(Who began cheerfully, but reduced her audience to tears, which she surveyed with complacence, by the third line.)