Identifier: throughyearwithb00will (find matches)
Title: Through the year with birds and poets (poems);
Year: 1900 (1900s)
Authors: Williams, Sarah, comp
Subjects: American poetry Birds
Publisher: Boston, Lee and Shepard
Contributing Library: The Library of Congress
Digitizing Sponsor: The Library of Congress

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more. Elizabeth F. Ellet. WITH BIRDS AND POETS 197 THE WHIPPOORWILL Listen, how the whippoorwillFrom his song-bed veiled and duskyFills the night ways warm and muskyWith his musics throb and thrill!Tis the western nightingaleLodged within the orchards pale,Starting into sudden tuneMid the amorous air of June,Lord of all the songs of night,Bird unseen, of voice outright,Buried in the sumptuous gloomOf his shadow-paneled room,Roofed above by webbed and wovenLeaf and bloom, by moonbeams cloven,Searched by odorous zephyrs through,Dim with dusk and damp with dew,—He it is that makes the nightAn enchantment and delight,Opening his entrancing taleWhere the evening robins fail,Ending his victorious strainWhen the robins wake again. Obadiah C. Auringer. WHIPPOORWILL Loud and sudden and near the notes of a whippoorwillsounded Like a flute in the woods; and anon, through the neigh-boring thickets, Farther and farther away it floated and dropped into silence. Evangeline. —Henry W. Longfellow.
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AUGUST Whose wavy flight and cheery whistleAdorn the wastes overgrown with thistle;No field so foul with noisome weedsBut there the dainty goldfinch feeds,And greets with song the fervent raysThat flood high noon of August days. The Goldfinch. — Charles C. Abbott. I cannot love the ?nan who doth not love,As men love light, the song of happy birds. Albert Pike. The little birds are too busy for even a song ;For the old ones are teaching the young ones to fly,With 7nany aflutter, and many a cry, —And now, they are flown in the blue sky spaces ! Blossom, Blossom on the Green Bough. — Edith Thomas. WITH BIRDS AND POETS 201 THE GOLDEN-CROWN SPARROW OF ALASKA I 0 minstrel of these borean hills,Where twilight hours are long, 1 would my boyhoods fragrant days Had known thy plaintive song; II Had known thy vest of ashen gray, Thy coat of drab and brown,The bands of jet upon thy head That clasp thy golden crown. IllWe heard thee in the cold White Pass, Where cloud and mountain meet,Again

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