To The Bluebird. 



harbinger of sunny Spring, 



Of springing buds and flowers, 

 Of skies as blue as are your wings, 

 Of sunny April showers. 



When borne upon the chilling wind, 

 It comes from field and stubble, 



1 love to hear your thrilling note. 



Your sweet melodious warble. 



The orchards soon will be in bloom, 

 And winds their fragrance blowing, 



Shall waft their odors far and near, 

 O'er every field and mowing. 



And soon across the field we'll hear 

 The Golden Flicker, hammer. 



And from the gate the robin's call, 

 The first sweet note of Summer. 



To thee, thou harbinger of Spring, 

 The naked woodland bowers 



Are giving joyful welcoming 

 For promised April showers. 



We greet thee, too, you azure bird, 

 Thou promise of the pleasures. 



Which Spring and Summer bring to us, 

 With all their golden treasures. 



C. E. Gordon. 



