222 With the Birds and Poets 



There is woven into the texture of the nest 

 much that is not mere sticks or grass, — just as 

 there is in a home much that is not mere walls 

 and ceilings. Would that we might always look 

 upon the building of a nest with the eyes and the 

 spirit of the poet John Vance Cheney: 



"Weave, bird in the green, green leaves ! 



Wind in with every thread 

 The shine of the earth and sky; 



Twine heaven's blue and the rose's red, 

 And the wind-sweet singing by. 



Weave, bird In the green, green leaves ! 



The lustre from east to west, 

 The melody line by line, 



Braid it, shade it, into the nest, 

 The home in the heart of the vine. 



Weave, bird in the green, green leaves ! 



All happy color and sound. 

 By love's own cunning curled. 



Wind It, bind It, round and round; 

 Build in the bliss of the world." 



