A Book on Birds 



How we loved those fields, so broad and fair, 



With the blue above, and the Lark's clear call, 



And the big, white clouds high over all. 



And the fragrant, breezy, golden air! 



And then — that place on its winding way, 



Where the water spread to a little bay 



On which the ducks kept holiday! — 



Dear little man — do you mind that too? 



Ah me, ah me, if I only knew! 



For, behold, this very afternoon 



Our brook is singing its old sweet tune; 



And, lo, as I seek it, lone and sad, 



I remember that woodland call we had, 



And, hungry to hear you, fain would try 



To lift it again through the trees to the sky. 



Yet I will not doubt — I will not fear! 



For at times in the stillness you seem quite near; 



And your face is always so full of joy 



That I think, with a thrill — my own dear boy — 



You perhaps have discovered where you have gone 



Some stream just as lovely as "Five Mile Run"! 



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