The Posy Ring Part 12

_Wild Geese_

The wild wind blows, the sun shines, the birds sing loud, The blue, blue sky is flecked with fleecy dappled cloud, Over earth's rejoicing fields the children dance and sing, And the frogs pipe in chorus, "It is spring! It is spring!"

The gra.s.s comes, the flower laughs where lately lay the snow, O'er the breezy hill-top hoa.r.s.ely calls the crow, By the flowing river the alder catkins swing, And the sweet song-sparrow cries, "Spring! It is spring!"

Hark, what a clamor goes winging through the sky!

Look, children! Listen to the sound so wild and high!

Like a peal of broken bells,--kling, klang, kling,-- Far and high the wild geese cry, "Spring! It is spring!"

Bear the winter off with you, O wild geese dear!

Carry all the cold away, far away from here; Chase the snow into the north, O strong of heart and wing, While we share the robin's rapture, crying "Spring! It is spring!"

Celia Thaxter.

_Chanticleer_

I wake! I feel the day is near; I hear the red c.o.c.k crowing!

He cries "'Tis dawn!" How sweet and clear His cheerful call comes to my ear, While light is slowly growing.

The white snow gathers flake on flake; I hear the red c.o.c.k crowing!

Is anybody else awake To see the winter morning break, While thick and fast 'tis snowing?

I think the world is all asleep; I hear the red c.o.c.k crowing!

Out of the frosty pane I peep; The drifts are piled so wide and deep, And wild the wind is blowing!

Nothing I see has shape or form; I hear the red c.o.c.k crowing!

But that dear voice comes through the storm To greet me in my nest so warm, As if the sky were glowing!

A happy little child, I lie And hear the red c.o.c.k crowing.

The day is dark. I wonder why His voice rings out so brave and high, With gladness overflowing.

Celia Thaxter.

_The Singer_

O Lark! sweet lark!

Where learn you all your minstrelsy?

What realms are those to which you fly?

While robins feed their young from dawn till dark, You soar on high-- Forever in the sky.

O child! dear child!

Above the clouds I lift my wing To hear the bells of Heaven ring; Some of their music, though my flights be wild, To Earth I bring; Then let me soar and sing!

Edmund Clarence Stedman.

_The Blue Jay_

O Blue Jay up in the maple-tree, Shaking your throat with such bursts of glee, How did you happen to be so blue?

Did you steal a bit of the lake for your crest, And fasten blue violets into your vest?

Tell me, I pray you,--tell me true!

Did you dip your wings in azure dye, When April began to paint the sky, That was pale with the winter's stay?

Or were you hatched from a bluebell bright, 'Neath the warm, gold breast of a sunbeam light, By the river one blue spring day?

O Blue Jay up in the maple-tree, A-tossing your saucy head at me, With ne'er a word for my questioning, Pray, cease for a moment your "ting-a-link,"

And hear when I tell you what I think,-- You bonniest bit of the spring.

I think when the fairies made the flowers, To grow in these mossy fields of ours, Periwinkles and violets rare, There was left of the spring's own color, blue, Plenty to fashion a flower whose hue Would be richer than all and as fair.

So, putting their wits together, they Made one great blossom so bright and gay, The lily beside it seemed blurred; And then they said, "We will toss it in air; So many blue blossoms grow everywhere, Let this pretty one be a bird!"

Susan Hartley Swett.

_Robert of Lincoln_[A]

Merrily swinging on brier and weed, Near to the nest of his little dame, Over the mountain-side or mead, Robert of Lincoln is telling his name: Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink, Snug and safe is this nest of ours, Hidden among the summer flowers, Chee, chee, chee.

Robert of Lincoln is gayly drest, Wearing a bright, black wedding-coat; White are his shoulders and white his crest, Hear him call, in his merry note, Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink, Look what a nice new coat is mine, Sure there was never a bird so fine!

Chee, chee, chee.

Robert of Lincoln's Quaker wife, Pretty and quiet, with plain brown wings, Pa.s.sing at home a patient life, Broods in the gra.s.s while her husband sings Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink, Brood, kind creature; you need not fear Thieves and robbers while I am here, Chee, chee, chee.

Modest and shy as a nun is she; One weak chirp is her only note.

Braggart, and prince of braggarts is he, Pouring boasts from his little throat: Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink, Never was I afraid of man; Catch me, cowardly knaves, if you can, Chee, chee, chee.

Six white eggs on a bed of hay, Flecked with purple, a pretty sight: There as the mother sits all day, Robert is singing with all his might, Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink, Nice good wife, that never goes out, Keeping house while I frolic about, Chee, chee, chee.

Soon as the little ones chip the sh.e.l.l, Six wide mouths are open for food; Robert of Lincoln bestirs him well, Gathering seeds for the hungry brood.