88 BIRDS AND POETS 
ce 
it up,” “cover it up.” The yellow-breasted chat 
says “who,” “who,” and “tea-boy.” What the 
robin says, caroling that simple strain from the top 
of the tall maple, or the crow with his hardy haw- 
haw, or the pedestrian meadowlark sounding his 
piercing and long-drawn note in the spring meadows, 
the poets ought to be able to tell us. I only know 
the birds all have a language which is very expres- 
sive, and which is easily translatable into the hu- 
man tongue. 
