152 THE SINGING OF BIRDS 



A BIRD'S SONG 



CHILL was the air, for yet the year was young, 



Wan was the sky, the clouds were fresh with rain ; 

 A bird, from where his small, soft nest was hung, 



Sang very joyously a tender strain. 

 For he had seen, near where a giant oak 



Stretched out its Titan branches, strong and sure, 

 Close-sheltered^, in a quiet moss-grown nook, 



A dainty April garden bloom secure. 



And there he saw the sun-born crocus, tall, 



Shine out in 'broidered bravery of gold ; 

 The violet no longer winter's thrall 



Begin her purple mantle to unfold. 

 He saw the primrose star rise palely fair 



From where the mosses thickly, softly grow, 

 And, delicately gleaming in the air, 



The snowdrop's fairy robe of green and snow. 



And oh ! with sudden flush of life and heat, 



The grey March world for him was charmed to 



May ; 

 And then rang out in bird-notes, fresh and sweet, 



A jocund carol in the clear cold day. 

 He heard the soft wind whisper from the West 



The promise of the Summer's blossoming ; 

 And gleefully he sang from out his nest 



A herald welcome to the coming Spring. 



KATHARINE TYNAN HINKSON. 



