70 Bird Day Book 



A SONG OF THE FALL 



STATELY pine and quaking asp and berry bush where the blue 

 grouse drums, 

 Willow leaf that borders the brook, and last few flowers where the 



wild bee hums ; 

 And down the glade to the lowlands, Boy, to the sod and fallow and 



fen, 

 Where the ferns skirt up to the service-bush, with the twit of the 

 willow hen ; 



For that is the way 

 At the close of day 

 We hear the song of the wild. 



Across the waste where the sage is rank, and the blue marsh lies 



in the sun, 

 The sage cock struts, but beckons not, the day is not yet done ; 

 A western breeze sighs in rustling ease where the thick green tulles 



sway, 

 And bittern shrieks, and nightbirds talk to the sinking orb of day — 



Listen, the din ! 

 When the flight comes in 

 To answer the voice of the night. 



Bronze-green head of the mallard drake, keen and alert at the turn, 

 The old wild song of passing swan, the wierdness of coot and hern ; 

 Gadwall and teal in the fading blue and wise old duck of ebon hue, 

 And rasping talk of things that squawk are heard in the broad-bill 

 crew — 



Now, Boy, find 

 That good old blind 

 And we'll list to the song of fall. 



