The dew of dawn upon its crest, 

 It wakes with morning from its rest 

 Amid the waving, sparkling grass. 

 That drips with diamonds where I pass; 

 And with its downy throbbing breast 

 Upon the gentle breeze caressed. 

 It fades at distance from my sight. 

 But lingers yet its sweet, "Bob White.' 

 —Basil B. Bassett 



