The lucently melodious drippings of
Thy happy harp, from airs of “Tempe Vale,”
To chirp and trill of lowliest flight and range,
In praise of our To-day and home and love—
Thou meadow-lark no less than nightingale.
A NOON LULL
’Possum in de ’tater-patch;
Chicken-hawk a-hangin’