File:A year with the birds (1917) (14563310350).jpg

Identifier: cu31924022541563 (find matches)
Title: A year with the birds
Year: 1917 (1910s)
Authors: Ball, Alice Eliza, 1867- Horsfall, R. Bruce (Robert Bruce), 1869-1948
Subjects: Birds Birds
Publisher: New York : Gibbs & Van Vleck
Contributing Library: Cornell University Library
Digitizing Sponsor: MSN

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u know it—do you hear me?—doyou believe it? All these strains are delivered with a rising inflectionat the close, and with a pause, as if waiting for an answer. From Chapmans Birds of Eastern North America. (Used by per-mission of D. Appleton & Co. Copyright, 1903.) 156 The Wood Pewee In old deserted orchards, A riot of neglect,In solitudes of arching woods. By streamlets which reflectLong overhanging branches With sunshine filtering through,A plaintive, tender, wistful note May flutter down to you.Perchance upon some leafless bough Near a woodland path, youll seeA tiny bird of olive brown, The gentle wood pewee. Such pathos in his long-drawn note, You feel impelled to waitTo comfort him; and if you call. Hell answer you. His mateSits on her lichen-covered nest,— Most exquisite,—while nearHe hovers, and he breathes to her, Pe-wee! Pe-wee! Here!Now far away his voice is heard,— From sadness never free; As from an over-burdened heart He murmurs, Pee: ywee. \a/ A. E. B. 156
Text Appearing After Image:
WOOD PEWEE The Pewee I . . . sat me down Beside the brook, irresolute, And watched a little bird in suitOf sober olive, soft and brown. Perched in the maple branches, mute:With greenish gold its vest was fringed,Its tiny cap was ebon-tinged,With ivory pale its wings were barred,And its dark eyes were tender-starred.Dear bird, I said, what is thy name?And thrice the mournful answer came, So faint and far, and yet so near,—Pe-wee! pe-wee! peer! John Townsend Trowbridge 157 The Kingbird Im a king, though my gold crown hides in black, And my robe is a sober gray;But my fan-shaped train, with its band of white,And my shining tunic, like ermine bright. Are truly a kings array. Ive the valiant heart of a mighty kingWho knows neither failure nor fear;When pillaging hawks attack my nest,I fly at their eyes till they cease their quest;I am even the eagles peer. My little feathered friends I shield From the thieving crow and jay;And when I approach a swarm of bees,Tis the lazy, useless drones

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