318 GRAY LADY AND THE BIRDS 
In winter they will eat dried currants, and make their 
own selection from mill sweepings if scattered about the 
trees of their haunts. For, above all things, the Blue- 
bird, though friendly, and seeking the borderland between 
the wild and the tame, never becomes familiar, and never 
does he lose the half-remote individuality that is one of 
his great charms. Though he lives with us, and gives no 
sign of pride of birth or race, he is not one of us, as the 
Song Sparrow, Chippy, or even the easily alarmed Robin. 
The poet’s mantle envelops him as the apple blossoms 
throw a rosy mist about his doorway, and it is best so. 
BLUEBIRDS’ GREETING 
Over the mossy walls, 
Above the slumbering fields, 
Where yet the ground no vintage yields, 
Save as the sunlight falls 
In dreams of harvest yellow, 
What voice remembered calls — 
So bubbling fresh, so soft and mellow? 
A darting, azure-feathered arrow 
From some lithe sapling’s low curve fleet 
The Bluebird, springing light and narrow, 
Sings in flight, with gurglings sweet. 
— GrorGE P. LatTurop. 
“We become attached to some birds for one reason, 
and to others for totally different qualities. We admire 
The Song the Oriole and Tanager first through the eye, 
Sparrow because of their rich colouring. The Robin we 
like because he is always with us, and he was probably 
the very first bird that we knew by name and we could 
