No pause in the rhythm of the Song Sparrow’s lay;
And I pondered and wondered as on flew the day:
“Is this high Art’s way?”
While still rolled his “swee-e-t, swee-e-t, bitter”—[4]
The philosophy of life, from a plain, little flitter.
Pond’ring I lingered and forgot me to eat,
A captive held fast in fair Nature’s retreat.
BLUEBIRD AND FAMILY.
Photo by the Author.
The Oven-bird graceful, misnamed “the preacher,”