THE RED-WINGED BLACKBIRD.

BLACK beneath as the night,
    With wings of a morning glow,
From his sooty throat three syllables float,
    Ravishing, liquid, low;
And ’tis oh, for the joy of June,

    And the bliss that ne’er can flee
From that exquisite call, with its sweet, sweet fall—
    O-ke-lee, o-ke-lee, o-ke-lee!

Long ago as a child,
    From the bough of a blossoming quince,

That melody came to thrill my frame,
    And whenever I’ve caught it since,
The spring-soft blue of the sky
    And the spring-bright bloom of the tree
Are a part of the strain—ah, hear it again!—

    O-ke-lee, o-ke-lee, o-ke-lee! [Page 49]

And the night is tenderly black,
    The morning eagerly bright,
For that old, old spring is blossoming
    In the soul and in the sight.

The red-winged blackbird brings
    My lost youth back to me,
When I hear in the swale, from a gray fence rail,
    O-ke-lee, o-ke-lee, o-ke-lee! [Page 50]