The Birds and Poets 231 



While refugees take gentle cheer 



In lands of palm and spice, 

 He drudges in the trenches here 



With wings incased in ice. 



Then when Spring starts her northern drive 



And Winter's long line reels, 

 The foppish refugees arrive 



Fresh from the far Antilles. 



The oriole, that gay young spark, 

 The thrush, swift, robin, wren, 



The martin, and the meadowlark 

 Come back to us again. 



And fawning honors we must do 



Unto this dandy rout. 

 This debonair, soft-fluting crew 



Must drive the sparrow out! 



The gable-angle, come what will, 

 Must serve the martin's rest. 



The elm-crutch near the window-sill 

 Must hold the robin's nest. 



The drooping maple-bough must sway 



For the oriole's silken ease. 

 Woe to the sparrow that says nay 



To our sublime decrees I 



I do not like the sparrow's dress, 



It is as dull as dirt; 

 I do not like his quarrelsomeness; 



He's impudent and pert. 



