THE WOOD PEWEE. 



The listening Dryads hushed the woods ; 



The boughs were thick, and thin and few 



The golden ribbons fluttering through ; 

 Their sun-embroidered leafy hoods 



The lindens lifted to the blue ; 

 Only a little forest-brook 

 The farthest hem of silence shook ; 

 When in the hollow shades I heard — 

 Was it a spirit or a bird ? 

 Or, strayed from Eden, desolate, 

 Some Peri calling to her mate, 

 Whom nevermore her mate would cheer? 



"Pe-ri! Pe-ri ! Peer! " 

 ******** 

 To trace it in its green retreat 



I sought among the boughs in vain ; 



And followed still the wandering strain 

 So melancholy and so sweet, 



The dim-eyed violets yearned with pain. 

 ******** 

 Long drawn and clear its closes were — 



As if the hand of Music through 



The sombre robe of Silence drew 

 A thread of golden gossamer ; 



So pure a flute the fairy blue. 

 Like beggared princes of the wood, 

 lu silver rags the birches stood ; 

 The hemlocks, lordly counselors. 

 Were dumb ; the sturdy servitors. 

 In beechen jackets patched and gray, 

 Seemed waiting spellbound all the day 

 That low, entrancing note to hear — 



" Pe-wee ! Pe-wee ! Peer ! " 

 ******** 

 "Dear bird," I said, "what is thy name? " 

 And thrice the mournful answer came, 

 So faint and far, and yet so near, 



"Pe-wee! Pe-wee! Peer!" 



—J. T. Trowbridge. 



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