WINTER'S SECRET. 



This beautiful da}- when the sun so bright 



Is giving my garment most beautiful hues, 

 I'll just look over the birds in sight — 

 The living gems on my cloak of white — , 



And the most precious I will choose. 



I'll sit in my tent of brilliant blue 



And look through its lacings of willow gold, 

 That shows a flashing of cardinal hue. 

 Yes, that's my redbird — I see him. Don't yOu? 



He's here if my breath is cold. 



There's darker spots close by redbird's flash; 



They look like shadows compared to him. 

 Now they dip in the brook where its waters plash 

 O'er the willow's roots with a rippling clash. 



And drink from my ice cups so thin. 



I think they are snowbirds. Hello, little mutes! 



Just answer me now till I'm sure it is you. 

 You look with your rusty brownish suits, 

 As }'ou flirt and dance o'er the frozen roots. 



Like the tasseled cords of my shoe. 



Haw! haw! from the treetop laughs out crow. 



"Don't you know I am out with the very best? 

 I love the sun, and I flap to and fro, 

 The one black-wing not afraid of the snow, 



Though you sometimes call me a pest." 



And Mr. Field Finch with chestnut hood. 



As he swings and sways on his weed perch brown, 

 Calls in tones that you will not use when you're good, 

 "Can't you see a body? See! I'm here near the wood 

 Where the berries and seeds rattle down." 



I'll now call Robin. Where are you, dear? 



I know I saw you this early morn, 

 A crimson breast in the pine tree here. 

 Come, Robin, come! I'm sure you are near; 



Yes, yonder you sit in that thorn. 



Oh m\- cloak is so gay and its gems never rest, 

 But flutter and shine, 'neath the rays of the sun; 



So I'll draw it close to my rugged breast. 



And never will say which one I love best — 

 For I love them all — every one. 



— Mary^Noland. 



