BLUEBIRD 397 



I dreamed that I was a waking thought, 

 A something I hardly knew, 

 Not a solid piece, nor an empty nought, 

 But a drop of morning dew. 



'T was the world and I at a game of bo-peep, 

 As a man would dodge his shadow, 

 An idea becalmed in eternity's deep, 

 'Tween Lima and Segraddo. 



Anon a faintly warbled note 

 From out the azure deep 

 Into my ears did gently float 

 As is the approach of sleep. 



It thrilled but startled not my soul ; 

 Across my mind strange mem'ries gleamed. 

 As often distant scenes unroll 

 When we have lately dreamed. 



The bluebird had come from the distant South 



To his box in the poplar tree. 



And he opened wide his slender mouth 



On purpose to sing to me. 



July 16, 1851. The plaintive, spring-restoring peep 

 of a bluebird is occasionally heard. 



Oct. 10, 1851. The air this morning is full of blue- 

 birds, and again it is spring. 



March 10, 1852. I see flocks of a dozen bluebirds 

 together. The warble of this bird is innocent and ce- 

 lestial, like its color. Saw a sparrow, perhaps a song 



