Obadiah Cyrus Auringer (1849–1937)

A BIRD with azure breast and beak of gold,

A joyous stranger, beautiful and shy,

Flown from far groves beneath a summer sky,

At morn amid our March woods bare and cold

Sang like a spirit. Raptures such as hold

The arches charmed, and hush the zephyr’s sigh,

From his enamored throat flowed carelessly

In musical low warblings manifold.

At length he ceased, with arch head bent aside,

And listened long! but from the woodlands bare

No cheering voice of melody replied,—

Only a faint call from the fields of air;

Swiftly he rose, and as the echo died

Fled to the open heavens, and warbled there.