74 With the Birds and Poets 



with playful unconcern almost within reach of 

 one's hand, upon the low branches where he loves 

 to feed. I once approached within ten feet of 

 one perched upon an old dead weed stalk, and 

 watched him twitch about in his usual active quest 

 for insects. While perched on the stalk, he "about 

 faced" in exact soldier fashion on his perch, with- 

 out moving a fraction of an inch to the right or to 

 the left, and so quickly that I almost missed it by 

 winking. 



This little warbler nests with us, and may be 

 seen in its favorite haunts until early in September. 



When May has gone, with its host of warblers, 

 thrushes and other beautiful feathered visitors, its 

 sweet influence falls upon the spirit like a peaceful 

 benediction, and I think of Browning's exultation 

 over the beauties of May: 



"Gone are they, but I have them in my soul." 



