The Birds and Poets 209 



In the dense luxuriant foliage of midsummer 

 the casual observer seldom sees a bird's nest in 

 tree or bush, tho' there may be hundreds of them 

 near at hand. When December comes a large 

 number of nests are exposed which have been 

 securely hidden all summer, and the art of the 

 birds in concealing their little domiciles is 

 revealed. 



I never walk in the woods in early winter that 

 I am not attracted by these old exposed nests. 

 Snow-crowned, against the gray winter sky, they 

 glow like white lights in a fog. Rose Terry Cook 

 sings of the snow-filled nest: 



"All, all are gone! I know not where; 

 And still upon the cold gray tree, 

 Lonely, and tossed by every air 

 That snow-filled nest I see." 



Aside from the birds themselves, there is no 

 subject of greater interest to the student than the 

 birds' homes. 



Lowell's heart is touched to reminiscent mood 

 by the old nest, which he loves for what it has 

 been: 



"Like some lorn abbey now, the wood 

 Stands roofless in the bitter air; 

 In ruins on its floor is strewed 



The carven foliage quaint and rare, 

 And homeless winds complain along 

 The columned choir once thrilled with song. 



