WAYLAYING THE DAWN 



about all things, tells you that the sun 

 is indeed coming. Even then you are 

 likely to hear no other bird note for 

 what seems a long time. 



Then from a treetop in the open 

 conies a sort of surprised ejaculation, as 

 if some one said, " Why, bless me ! It 

 is morning already," and then a burst 

 of song from the full throat of a robin. 

 It is as if he were the chorister of a 

 choir invisible, for he pipes but a single 

 strain before from treetop to treetop, 

 near and heaven only knows how far, 

 bursts forth the mingled melody of a 

 great chorus of robins ringing clarion 

 notes of jubilee. 



They have the overture to themselves 

 all along in the open, for there the 

 song sparrow does not sing till some 

 ten minutes later. Of these again you 

 shall hear a single bird, followed by a 

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