_"
I like the tune, I like the words;
They seem so true, so free from art,
So friendly, and so full of heart,
That if but one of all the birds
Could be my comrade everywhere,
My little brother of the air,
I'd choose the song-sparrow, my dear,
Because he'd bless me, every year,
With "_Sweet--sweet--sweet--very merry cheer._"
1895.
THE MARYLAND YELLOW-THROAT
When May bedecks the naked trees
With tassels and embroideries,
And many blue-eyed violets beam
Along the edges of the stream,
I hear a voice that seems to say,
Now near at hand, now far away,
"_Witchery--witchery--witchery._"
An incantation so serene,
So innocent, befits the scene:
There's magic in that small bird's note--
See, there he flits--the Yellow-throat;
A living sunbeam, tipped with wings,
A spark of light that shines and sings
"_Witchery--witchery--witchery._"
You prophet with a pleasant name,
If out of Mary-land you came,
You know the way that thither goes
Where Mary's lovely garden grows:
Fly swiftly back to her, I pray,
And try to call her down this way,
"_Witchery--witchery--witchery!_"
Tell her to leave her cockle-shells,
And all her little silver bells
That blossom into melody,
And all her maids less fair than she.
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