And nooks for snuggeries are made by grape and ivy-vines,
When lilacs stand in purple, and the plum-trees blossom forth,
Comes here a lilting, gay, and gaudy troop,
Tits, thrushes, bobolinks, blue-jays with noisy whoop,
Kingbirds, wild tumblers in the air, drunk with ethereal wines;
Then cardinals, and indigoes, and finches find the place,
And so the town-site in the trees grows populous apace.
One waiting for the apple-blooms is he who’s always late,
The oriole: his building-site none e’er disputes with him.
Though last to come he has full leave to settle, with his mate,