The Early Blue Bird - An 1861 Poem

By Mrs. L.H. Sigourny.

Blue bird! on yon leafless tree,

Dost thou carol thus to me,

"Spring is coming — Spring is here!"

Say'st thou so my birdie dear?

What is that in misty shroud,

Stealing from the darkened cloud?

Lo! the snow flakes' gathering mound

Settles o'er the whitened ground;

Yet thou singest, blithe and clear,

"Spring is coming — Spring is here!"

 

Strik'st thou not too bold a strain?

Winds are piping o'er the plain;

Clouds are sweeping o'er the sky,

With a black and threat'ning eye;

Urchins by the frozen rill,

Wrap their mantles closer still;

You poor man, with doublet old,

Doth he shiver with the cold?

Hath he not a nose of blue?

Tell me, birdling — tell me true.

 

Spring's a maid of mirth and glee,

Rosy wreaths and revelry;

Hast thou woed some winged love

To a nest in verdant grove?

Sung to her of greenwood bower,

Sunny skies that never lower?

Lured her with thy promise fair,

Prithee, bird in coat of blue,

Though a lover — tell her true.

 

Ask her if, when storms are long,

She can sing a cheerful song?

When the rude winds rock the tree,

If she'll closer cling to thee?

Then the blasts that sweep the sky,

Unappealed, shall pass they by;

Tho' thy curtained chamber show

Sittings of untimely snow,

Warm and kind they heart shall be —

Love shall make it Spring for thee.

May 2, 1861. Holmes County Farmer 23(11): 4.