Baby Bobolink's Cradle

Woven of grasses dry and brown,

With a sprig of clover here and there,

A cosy lining of thistle-down

And a feather dropped from a bird in air —

 

This is the cradle, dainty and fine,

Love hides away in the meadow sweet,

Down deep down, and never a sign

To tempt too near little wayward feet.

 

Down, deep down in the blossoming grass,

That rustles dreamily all day long,

And only the yellow butterflies pass

And the green-gold bees with their humdrum song.

 

Golden butter-cups lean above,

And daisies white with hearts all gold,

Golden lily-bells nod their love,

And the golden sunshine all doth fold.

 

What wonder young bobolink springs to air

With flecks of light in his plumage caught!

What wonder his song's a medley rare

Of al things golden and free and fair,

And a song with ecstasy fraught!

L.G. Warner.

July 28, 1881. Stark County Democrat 48(9): 7.