Why not be frank and say it without fear? 

 Of all our poets none I better like, 

 In certain moods and seasons, than van Dyke, 



Whose mellow Bird-Songs make the birds more dear. 



Song-sparrow, veery, whippoorwill who else 

 Interprets them with sympathy more keen? 

 Who deeper into real bird-life has seen, 



Or of their haunting music better tells? 



Nor poet only. Deft with essay, tale, 



And sketch (wherein the angler's art has place), 

 In all he writes we find peculiar grace, 



A temper kind, and faith that does not fail. 



Who owns the Mountains he has taught us plain; 



The charm of Talkability is his; 



Life, to his mind, a well-aimed Arrow is; 

 And Builders strive and labor not in vain. 



With him we've sat where Friendship's Fire has burned ; 



There of far lakes and forests he has told; 



We by dear Little Rivers' banks have strolled, 

 And of the mystic Yorrow Lily learned. 



What wonder that we love this gentle friend? 

 Be his choice books our comrades to the end! 



A. EMERSON PALMER 



