THE BLUEBIRD 



A WISTFUL note from out the sky, 

 " Pure, pure, pure," in plaintive tone, 

 As if the wand'rer were alone, 



And hardly knew to sing or cry. 



But now a flash of eager wing, 

 Flitting, twinkling by the wall, 

 And pleadings sweet and am'rous call, - 



Ah, now I know his heart doth sing ! 



bluebird, welcome back again, 

 Thy azure coat and ruddy vest 

 Are hues that April loveth best, 



Warm skies above the furrowed plain. 



The farm boy hears thy tender voice, 

 And visions come of crystal days, 

 With sugar-camps in maple ways, 



And scenes that make his heart rejoice. 



The lucid smoke drifts on the breeze, 

 The steaming pans are mantling white, 

 And thy blue wing's a joyous sight, 



Among the brown and leafless trees. 



