40 Bird Day Book 



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TO A WATERFOWL 



Whither, mid'st falling dew, 

 While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, 

 Far through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue 



Thy solitary way? 



Vainly the fowler's eye 

 Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong. 

 As darkly seen against the crimson sky, 



Thy figure floats along. 



All day thy wings have fanned, 

 At that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere, 

 Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land, 



Though the dark night is near. 



And soon that toil shall end ; 

 Soon shalt thou find a summer home, and rest, 

 And scream among thy fellows ; reeds shall bend 



Soon, o'er thy sheltered nest. 



— William Cull en Bryant. 



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