File:A year with the birds (1917) (14747629994).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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Text Appearing Before Image:
Mosquito flewAnd stung them all except the snake— A spiteful thing to do. Then Swallow, darting swiftly down. Bit out Mosquitos tongue,And since that day he cannot speak— Bz-bz—bz-bz—hes sung. The treacherous serpent glided forth The friend of Man to slay;He struck and bit—but Swallow flew Too fast to be his prey. Old Snakes curved, venomed mouth tore part Of Swallows tail away;Two sharply-pointed forks remained— Youll find them there today. A. E. B. 102 The Purple MartinThe Chimney Swift 103 The Purple Martin Bird beloved by keen-eyed Indians, Bird that never rests;Cherished, too, by southern negroes. Who provide them nests.Knowing thus their tiny chickens Safe from hawks will be;Valued, too, by northern farmers, As crows enemy. Martins seek the sheltering houses, Placed where insects humMidst a tangle of sweet blossoms; But if sparrows come,The noisy, selfish, rude intruders For those homes will fight.Till the vanquished purple martins Take a speedy flight. A. E. B. 104
Text Appearing After Image:
PURPLE MARTIN This guest of summer,The temple-haunting martlet, does approveBy his loved mansionery that the heavens breathSmells wooingly here: no jutty, frieze,Buttress, nor coign of vantage, but this birdHath made his pendant bed. Shakespeare: Macbeth 106 The Chimney Swift Some soft spring day, athwart the sky, A bird like a bow-and-arrow speeds by From tropic lands in the distant South. Tis the twittering Swift, that with open mouth And unwearying wings seeks insect prey; And countless others arrive straightway. Such flapping and whirling and wheeling about,Till the sun goes down, and the stars come out!Then hollow trees they speedily seek,Or chimneys unused; with feet tiny and weakAnd strong pointed tails, to the walls they cling.A flock of a thousand the night will bring! Their nests are pockets against the wall.Built deftly of sticks, which rarely fallBecause they are fastened too snug with a glueFrom the mouths of these birds of sable hue.The eggs of the swifts are of purest w

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