A March Glee
By John Burroughs
I hear the wild geese honking
From out the misty night,—
A sound of moving armies
On-sweeping in their might;
The river ice is drifting
Beneath their northward flight.
I hear the bluebird plaintive
From out the morning sky,
Or see his wings a-twinkle
That with the azure vie;
No other bird more welcome,
No more prophetic cry.
I hear the sparrow’s ditty
Anear my study door;
A simple song of gladness
That winter days are o’er
My heart is singing with him,
I love him more and more.
I hear the starling fluting
His liquid “O-ka-lee;”
I hear the downy drumming,
His vernal reveillé;
From out the maple orchard
The nuthatch calls to me.
Oh, spring is surely coming.
Her couriers fill the air;
Each morn are new arrivals,
Each night her ways prepare;
I scent her fragrant garments,
Her foot is on the stair.