THE CHIPPING SPARROW
The clouds are hanging dark and low,
The budding trees are still quite bare,
And from the North the cold winds blow,
Of spring we almost might despair.
But from the branches, ashen gray,
Outside my window, comes a song,
A warbling Chipping Sparrow’s lay,
To cold and dimness nonchalant.
His music has a thrilling joy,
It warms the soul, allures a smile,
Its brooding doubts he does destroy,
And makes it happy like a child.
And now a sudden, cheering gleam
Falls on him from a rift of blue,
I see him in a golden dream,—
I know that song alone is true.
His crimson tuft a poet’s crown,
His tawny breast a badge of love,
And that clear sunray coming down,
Our Father’s watchful eye above.
IN THE LILAC-BLOSSOM-TIME
When the fragrance of the purple and lavender lilac-bloom
Meets the sweet distilled aroma from the plum and apple-trees,
And the dainty scent of violets amid the garden-gloom,
Where’s the music of the hum and drone of pollen-painted bees,
Then my soul takes up its harp, which long upon the willows hung,
And attunes it to the gladness that is floating in the air,
For it is in lilac-blossom-time that everything grows young,
And the heart of man is lighter, and has little less of care.
In the lilac-blossom-time it seems, the brown thrush blithest sings,
And the wood-dove cooes the deepest from a breast brimful with love,
And the Oriole’s glad music clearest ’mongst the branches rings,
To its mate that sits abrooding on the nest upon the bough;
And the Whip-poor-will is calling from the woodlands dark, at eve,
With a zest which makes the farmer feel that even the night hath song,
And in the cool of day he thinks, it is quite good to live,
“Since after toil I here can rest the lilac-trees among.”
In the lilac-blossom-time, methinks, are children happiest,
Since with that blossoms’ coming a great liberty draws nigh,
The days of school are over, and they feel supremely blest
In the days mid nature’s glories, ’neath the blue and open sky,
Or to lie beneath the lilacs with a story-book in hand,
Reading perfume into fancies, Puck and fairies twixt each line,
Till the heart is with them dancing in a happy wonderland,
While the shadows of the after-noon with lilac hues combine.