Little Birds are dining
Warily and well,
Hid in mossy cell:
Hid, I say, by waiters
Their shadow dims the sunshine of our day,
As they go lumbering across the sky,
Squawking in joy of feeling safe on high,
Beating their heavy wings of owlish gray.
The wild duck startles like a sudden thought,
And heron slow as if it might be caught.
The flopping crows on weary wings go by
And grey beard jackdaws noising as they fly.
He. Where thou dwellest, in what grove,
Tell me Fair One, tell me Love;
Where thou thy charming nest dost build,
O thou pride of every field!
Among the more irritating minor ideas
Of Mr. Homburg during his visits home
To Concord, at the edge of things, was this:
Our minds have become intimate with words.
We fly together like two paper birds.
Small creeks, big rivers and the mighty sea,
Sustains the lyrics of calligraphy.
March! The mud is cakin' good about our trousies.
Front! -- eyes front, an' watch the Colour-casin's drip.
Front! The faces of the women in the 'ouses
Ain't the kind o' things to take aboard the ship.
As the sun showed it's first ray of light
I told everyone it's time to take flight
They asked me whether the adventure would be long
I said it would'nt be if we hum a nice little song