Bird Biographies

by Alice Eliza Ball

When the setting sun goes down in a glow

Of the purest primrose gold,

And the pearly east reflects a flush

From the glories the west doth hold,—

This brown bird then, with a soul in his voice,

Sings to his mate so true

The tenderest song of the April choir—

“O Sweetheart, I love you!”

CHIPPING SPARROW