THE INDIGO-BIRD 
When I see 
High on the tip-top twig of a tree 
Something blue by the breezes stirred, 
But so far up that the blue is blurred, 
So far up no green leaf flies 
’Twixt its blue and the blue of the skies. 
Then I know e’er a note be heard, 
That is naught but the Indigo-bird. 
3lue on the branch and blue in the sky, 
And naught between but the breezes high, 
And naught so blue by the breezes stirred 
As the deep, deep blue of the Indigo-bird. 
When I hear 
A song like a bird laugh blithe and clear, 
As though some airy jest he had heard, 
The last and the most delightful word, 
A laugh as fresh in the August haze 
As it was in the full voiced April days, 
‘Then I know that my heart is stirred 
By the laughlike song of the Indigo-bird. 
Joy on the branch, and joy in the sky, 
And naught between but the breezes high, 
And naught so glad on the breezes heard 
As the gay, gay note of the Indigo-bird. 
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