03 February 2014

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.