The Birds and Poets 279 



Mary A. Townsend dedicates these lines to the 

 graceful flight of the turkey buzzard : 



"Aloft on horizontal wing, 

 We saw the buzzard rock and swing; 

 That sturdy sailor of the air 

 Whose agile pinions have a grace 

 That prouder plumes might proudly wear, 

 And claim it for a Kinglier race." 



The spirit of the bird lover glows with ecstacy 



"When March just ready to depart, begins 

 To soften into April", — 



for 'tis then the birds' year really begins. At this 

 happy time the birds seem to ride in on every 

 southern breeze, and to fall from the heavens with 

 every spring shower, and the world once again is a 

 riot of color and song. 



Let March pass therefore, with these lines by 

 Robert Burns Wilson : 



"The braggart March stood in the season's door 



With his broad shoulders blocking up the way. 

 Shaking the snow-flakes from the cloak he wore. 



And from the fringes of his kirtle gray. 

 Near by him April stood with tearful face, 



With violets in her hands, and in her hair 

 Pale, wild anemones ; the fragrant lace 



Half-parted from her breast, which seemed like fair 

 Down-tinted mountain snow, smooth-drifted there. 



