THe Buzzard of the Wear Swamp 
buzzard account for it. Yet it was never mere bird, 
mere buzzard, to me; so much more than buzzard, 
indeed, that I often wish it would sail into these 
empty New England skies. How eagerly I watch 
for it when homeward bound toward Jersey! The 
moment I cross the Delaware I begin to search the 
skies, and I know, for sure, when it swims into 
view, that I am near the blessed fields once more. 
No matter how wide and free, how full of clouds 
and color, my sky to the end will always need a 
soaring buzzard. 
This is a burst of sentiment, truly, and does n't 
explain at all why I should want to see the creature 
of these divine wings in the gruesome light of an 
earth-view, on its nesting stump or in its hollow 
log. 
Be Yarrow stream unseen, unknown! 
It must, or we shall rue it: 
We have a vision of our own; 
Ah! why should we undo it ? 
I understand. Nevertheless, I wanted to find a 
buzzard’s nest, —the nest of the Bear Swamp buz- 
zard; and here at last I stood; and yonder on the 
clouds, a mere mote in the distance, floated one of 
Ig! 
