Bluebird 



The Bluebird 



Listen a moment I pray you; what was the sound that I 



heard? 

 Wind in the budding branches, the ripple of brooks or a bird? 

 Hear it again, above us! and see! a flutter of wings! 

 The bluebird knows it is April, and soars toward the sun 



and sings. 



Never the song of the robin could make my heart so glad. 

 When I hear the bluebird singing in spring, I forget to be sad. 

 Hear it! a ripple of music! sunshine changed into song! 

 It sets me thinking of summer when the days and their dreams 

 are long. 



Winged lute that we call a bluebird, you blend in a silver 

 strain 



The sound of the laughing waters, the patter of spring's sweet 

 rain, 



The voice of the winds, the sunshine, and fragrance of blos- 

 soming things. 



Ah! you are an April poem, that God has dowered with 



wings! 



E. E. Rexford. 



27 



