Jessie B. Rittenhouse, ed. (1869–1948). The Second Book of Modern Verse. 1922.
Yellow Warblers
T
When, dreamland still bewildering mine eyes,
I looked out to the oak that, winter-long,
—a winter wild with war and woe and wrong—
Beyond my casement had been void of song.
Live buds that warbled like a rivulet
Beneath a veil of willows. Then I knew
Those tiny voices, clear as drops of dew,
Those flying daffodils that fleck the blue,
Wee pilgrims of the sun, that measure miles
Innumerable over land and sea
With wings of shining inches. Flakes of glee,
They filled that dark old oak with jubilee,
Their dainty courtships on the dipping sprays,
How they should fashion nests, mate helping mate,
Of milkweed flax and fern-down delicate
To keep sky-tinted eggs inviolate.
From lyric dawn through dreamland’s open door,
And there was God, Eternal Life that sings,
Eternal joy, brooding all mortal things,
A nest of stars, beneath untroubled wings.