ANNA R. HENDERSON.
Wodie and I in the strawberry bed,Searching for strawberries juicy and red;Breathing the airs of a morning in spring,Listening the notes that the meadow larks sing;Heart beats and pulse beats keeping in tuneWith all that is lovely in beautiful June.Sharp little twitters near by us we heard;Where was the haunt of the dear little bird?Soon the wee nest and its nestlings we found,Safe in a catnip bush, close to the ground;Home of the sparrow, whose chirruping broodKept their four yellow mouths open for food;By their fond mother unceasingly fedWith morsels of strawberry, fragrant and red."O, Mamma," said Wodie, "did ever you seeSo tiny a nest in so tiny a tree?And isn't it perfectly lovely to stayIn the spicy catnip leaves all day?And whenever you wish for something to eat,To dine on a slice of strawberry sweet?To hear the father-bird singing, a tuneIn the old peach tree all the afternoon,And to be shut out from the dew at nightBy the touch of mother-wings, soft and light?I think when these dear little birdies strayFrom their home in the catnip bush away,Wherever their dear little forms may go,In the summer's sun or the winter's snow,They will say, as the old folks always do,That their baby days were the best they knew."
Wodie and I in the strawberry bed,Searching for strawberries juicy and red;Breathing the airs of a morning in spring,Listening the notes that the meadow larks sing;Heart beats and pulse beats keeping in tuneWith all that is lovely in beautiful June.Sharp little twitters near by us we heard;Where was the haunt of the dear little bird?Soon the wee nest and its nestlings we found,Safe in a catnip bush, close to the ground;Home of the sparrow, whose chirruping broodKept their four yellow mouths open for food;By their fond mother unceasingly fedWith morsels of strawberry, fragrant and red."O, Mamma," said Wodie, "did ever you seeSo tiny a nest in so tiny a tree?And isn't it perfectly lovely to stayIn the spicy catnip leaves all day?And whenever you wish for something to eat,To dine on a slice of strawberry sweet?To hear the father-bird singing, a tuneIn the old peach tree all the afternoon,And to be shut out from the dew at nightBy the touch of mother-wings, soft and light?I think when these dear little birdies strayFrom their home in the catnip bush away,Wherever their dear little forms may go,In the summer's sun or the winter's snow,They will say, as the old folks always do,That their baby days were the best they knew."
Wodie and I in the strawberry bed,
Searching for strawberries juicy and red;
Breathing the airs of a morning in spring,
Listening the notes that the meadow larks sing;
Heart beats and pulse beats keeping in tune
With all that is lovely in beautiful June.
Sharp little twitters near by us we heard;
Where was the haunt of the dear little bird?
Soon the wee nest and its nestlings we found,
Safe in a catnip bush, close to the ground;
Home of the sparrow, whose chirruping brood
Kept their four yellow mouths open for food;
By their fond mother unceasingly fed
With morsels of strawberry, fragrant and red.
"O, Mamma," said Wodie, "did ever you see
So tiny a nest in so tiny a tree?
And isn't it perfectly lovely to stay
In the spicy catnip leaves all day?
And whenever you wish for something to eat,
To dine on a slice of strawberry sweet?
To hear the father-bird singing, a tune
In the old peach tree all the afternoon,
And to be shut out from the dew at night
By the touch of mother-wings, soft and light?
I think when these dear little birdies stray
From their home in the catnip bush away,
Wherever their dear little forms may go,
In the summer's sun or the winter's snow,
They will say, as the old folks always do,
That their baby days were the best they knew."