SWAYING TREE TOPS 



In these gray winter mornings 

 there is still one tie that holds me to 

 the spring. It is a little brown bird 

 whose song rings out clear, full, and 

 sweet. I wonder why he has chosen 

 to remain here when he might have 

 flown away to a warmer land. He 

 seems to be the only one of his kind, 

 for I hear only his song. To-day, 

 sitting on the icy limb, he whistles 

 as though it were a June morning. 

 I am glad that there is one bird left 

 after summer has departed one 

 bird whose song is my matins and 

 vespers. If I feel not kindly toward 

 the cold morn, this bird assumes my 

 obligations, and raises a song to 

 heaven. Sing on, thou only bird, and 

 thou shalt have my heart with thee! 



[75] 



