The cedars shook with fluttering wings, Where, startled from their
perch above A hundred brown half-sleeping things Went tumbling down from bough to bough In sudden strange alarm enthralled : A flitting shadow crossed Night's brow And then—an English blackbird called.
It came, a silver trumpet-blast Of challenge from forgotten years, A clarion-call from boyhood's past Of buds and blossoms, smiles and tears ; Once more I plucked the lilac bloom And watched the dipping swifts go by.-..
Ah! but an exile's heart has room To hold an English blackbird's cry!
The birds went slowly back to sleep, A dark cloud crossed the quarter-moon, And o'er my heart a shade as deep Fell slow—and will not lift so soon There is no English heart God made, No shore from England so remote, But heart will fill and land will fade Before an English blackbird's note !
Iowa, U.S.A. WILL H. Ootivno.
Previous page
