2 
The Crow 
Hears the laughter of the waters, 
Hears the groaning of the ice floes, 
Hears the rush of Piscataqua ; 
Hearing, soars on high exulting, 
Beats his wings against the west wind, 
Seeks Chocorua and his nesting. 
In the orchard sings the bluebird ; 
In the forest mews the red hawk ; 
Butterflies, from winter slumbers. 
Flutter o'er the wasting snow-drifts ; 
Then it is a distant cawing, 
Growing louder — coming nearer. 
Tells of crows returning inland 
From their winter on the marshes. 
Iridescent is their plumage. 
Loud their voices, bold their clamor. 
In the pools and shallows wading ; 
Or in overflowing meadows 
Searching for the waste of winter — 
Scraps and berries freed by thawing. 
