MADHU MALTI

Warbler Poems : Various Poets : : Bird Poems : :

* Calls : : Carl Sandburg : :
BECAUSE I have called to you
as the flame flamingo calls,
or the want of a spotted hawk
is called—
because in the dusk
the warblers shoot the running
waters of short songs to the
homecoming warblers—
because
the cry here is wing to wing
and song to song—

I am waiting,
waiting with the flame flamingo,
the spotted hawk, the running water
warbler—
waiting for you.
— Carl Sandburg

** Evening Waterfall : : Carl Sandburg : :
WHAT was the name you called me?—
And why did you go so soon?

The crows lift their caw on the wind,
And the wind changed and was lonely.

The warblers cry their sleepy-songs
Across the valley gloaming,
Across the cattle-horns of early stars.

Feathers and people in the crotch of a treetop
Throw an evening waterfall of sleepy-songs.

What was the name you called me?—
And why did you go so soon?
— Carl Sandburg

* * * HOW SHALL I WOO THEE : : Paul Laurence Dunbar : :
How shall I woo thee to win thee, mine own?
Say in what tongue shall I tell of my love.
I who was fearless so timid have grown,
All that was eagle has turned into dove.
The path from the meadow that leads to the bars
Is more to me now than the path of the stars.
How shall I woo thee to win thee, mine own,
Thou who art fair and as far as the moon?
Had I the strength of the torrent’s wild tone,
Had I the sweetness of warblers in June;
The strength and the sweetness might charm and persuade,
But neither have I my petition to aid.
How shall I woo thee to win thee, mine own?
How shall I traverse the distance between
My humble cot and your glorious throne?
How shall a clown gain the ear of a queen?
Oh teach me the tongue that shall please thee the best,
For till I have won thee my heart may not rest.
— Paul Laurence Dunbar

* V : : Yellow Warblers : : by Katharine Lee Bates

▼
The first faint dawn was flushing up the skies
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.
And lo! with golden buds the twigs were set,
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,
Those sparkling visitants from myrtle isles,
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,
Foretelling in delicious roundelays
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.
Listening to those blithe notes, I slipped once more
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.
Memorize Poem
— Katharine Lee Bates

V : : The Maryland Yellow-Throat : : by Henry Van Dyke

▼
When May bedecks the naked trees
With tassels and embroideries,
And many blue-eyed violets beam
Along the edges of the stream,
I hear a voice that seems to say,
Now near at hand, now far away,
“Witchery—witchery—witchery.”
An incantation so serene,
So innocent, befits the scene:
There’s magic in that small bird’s note—
See, there he flits—the Yellow-throat;
A living sunbeam, tipped with wings,
A spark of light that shines and sings
“Witchery—witchery—witchery.”
You prophet with a pleasant name,
If out of Mary-land you came,
You know the way that thither goes
Where Mary’s lovely garden grows:
Fly swiftly back to her, I pray,
And try, to call her down this way,
“Witchery—witchery—witchery!”
Tell her to leave her cockle-shells,
And all her little silver bells
That blossom into melody,
And all her maids less fair than she.
She does not need these pretty things,
For everywhere she comes, she brings
“Witchery—witchery—witchery!”
The woods are greening overhead,
And flowers adorn each mossy bed;
The waters babble as they run—
One thing is lacking, only one:
If Mary were but here to-day,
I would believe your charming lay,
“Witchery—witchery—witchery!”
Along the shady road I look—
Who’s coming now across the brook?
A woodland maid, all robed in white—
The leaves dance round her with delight,
The stream laughs out beneath her feet—
Sing, merry bird, the charm’s complete,
“Witchery—witchery—witchery!”

V * : : The Scituate Bird : :byAnonymous. : : : :

▼
Where is your “Scituate, Scituate, Scituate,”
Bright little warbler up in the tree?
I know a Scituate, Scituate, Scituate,
I know a Scituate hard by the sea,
New England Scituate, plain little Scituate,
Dear little Scituate quaint as can be.
Is that your “Scituate, Scituate, Scituate,”
Is that the theme of your whistling song?
Or some mysterious Scituate, Scituate.
Far in the land where the fairies belong?
Other quite misty, impalpable Scituate,
Whither the fairies and singing birds throng?
Gold-breasted chanter of “Scituate, Scituate,”
Whence came the gold? It was surely from there
Bright-throated lover of “Scituate, Scituate,”
Warm is the glow of your Scituate fair!
Vigorous praiser of “Scituate, Scituate,”
Surely that region surpasses compare!
Lead me, gay warbler to Scituate, Scituate;
Close will I follow wherever you fly.
I would see Scituate, Scituate, Scituate,
Vocal with carols and bright to the eye;
Yes, I would live in your Scituate, Scituate,
Live there and sing there till singing I die.

The Maryland Yellowthroat, whose song to many is “witchery, witchery, witchery, witch!” to the author calls the name of the Massachusetts seaside village of Scituate. : :

V * * : : Pending.. .

Warbler at Howell’s Drive-In : David Bottoms : : Bird Poems : :

**POETRY, Magazine** **Cover Of November, 1994 issue.**

**David Bottoms** **( 1949–2023 )** **: :**
**Headshot of poet David Bottoms in a red hat.**
( **By ) Rachael Bottoms : Biography from poetryfoundation.org**
David Bottoms was born in Canton, Georgia in 1949. He earned an MA from the University of West Georgia and a PhD from Florida State University. Bottoms’s collections of poetry include Otherworld, Underworld, Prayer Porch (2018), We Almost Disappear (2011), Waltzing through the Endtime (2004), Vagrant Grace (1999), Armored Hearts: Selected and New Poems (1995), and In a U-Haul North of Damascus (1982). He has won many awards and honors for his work, including the Levinson Prize, an American Academy and Institute of Arts and Letters Award, an Ingram-Merrill Award, and fellowships from the National Endowment for the Arts and the Guggenheim Foundation. Bottoms served as poet laureate of Georgia from 2000 to 2012.

In 1979, Bottoms won the prestigious Walt Whitman Award from the Academy of American Poets for his first poetry collection Shooting Rats at the Bibb County Dump. Robert Penn Warren, the contest’s judge, described Bottoms as “a strong poet, and much of his strength emerges from the fact that he is temperamentally a realist. In his vision the actual world is not transformed but illuminated.” The book—filled with bars, motels, pawnshops, truckers, waitresses, and vandals—was recognizably Southern in tenor and landscape. Washington Post Book World reviewer Joel Conarroe called Bottoms “clearly a meticulous craftsman whose highest pleasure is not in shooting rats or gigging frogs or killing squirrels … but in finding a language, supple and evocative, to communicate the implications of these experiences.”

Since Shooting Rats at the Bibb County Dump, Bottoms has continued to write affecting poems that utilize clear narratives, natural and animal imagery, and influences that range from church and blue-grass music to the work of James Dickey, who was a close friend. Speaking to William Walsh, Bottoms commented on his affinity for church hymns and spirituals: “There’s so much water imagery in those hymns. It’s the whole beautiful notion of crossing over, of getting to the other side. This imagery, of course, is ancient, and not uniquely Christian, but I suppose Sunday school largely accounts for my love of it. Also, as you know, lakes and rivers make such wonderful metaphors for the psyche—the conscious mind and the unconscious, the surface and that hidden realm below the surface. I keep coming back to that, I guess.”

Though it still utilizes Southern themes and locales, Waltzing through the Endtime (2004) marks a slight shift in Bottoms’s style. Concerned with apocalyptic “endtime” prophecies, and delving deeper into autobiography, the poems circle and fracture around central narratives and images. Bottoms commented to Walsh, “[This] book is much more of what I’ve always wanted my poems to be … [the poems] have evolved stylistically. They’ve stretched their muscles a little. The stories are still there and they remain central, but the poems pause to think about them more, and to think not only about their consequences for our everyday lives but to think about their ultimate consequences.” Speaking to some of the main influences on Bottoms’s work, a review in Library Journal remarked, “If Bottoms’s lines sometimes remind one of Robert Penn Warren (authority of voice) and Charles Wright (attention to detail), [they are] always filled with Bottoms’s very own voice, his gift for evocative images, searching irony, and meditative poise.”

Bottoms lives in Atlanta, Georgia, where he holds the John B. and Elena Diaz-Amos Distinguished Chair in English Letters at Georgia State University. He coedits Five Points: A Journal of Art and Literature.

” Warbler At Howell’s Drive-In”, From Poetry Magazine , November , 1994 issue. : Photo From poetryfoundation.org in collaboration with JSTOR : Their digitised platform for access to Poetry. : Here, For Educational Purposes only.

“Warbler At Howell’s Drive-In”, A Bird Poem By David Bottoms is About “birding and wandering when The Poet Speaker identifies Warbler Bird with his noted observation : ” A whistle, and a yellow -throat Springing to a branch.” He handles his camera clumsily and “grope”, that is , fumble towards stopping in the empty branch on attempting to capture the picture of warbler bird.

“Warbler At Howell’s Drive-In”, A Bird(ing) Poem, Information Appreciation and poem Analysis Presented by V Jayaraj Pune India November 20, 2023 : : : : : : : :

Bird Shaped Sun – Encounter with A Yellow Warbler : Henry India Holden :

The Golden Warbler is a subspecies group of Dendroica petechia. They reside in the mangrove swamps of the West Indies. This photo was taken at Mary’s Point Pond on St. John, US Virgin Islands , On May 21, 2011. ( From Wikipedia )

Bird Shaped Sun – Encounter With A Yellow Warbler: Henry India Holden:From The Lark * She appeared on the porch rail parallel to me —
a tiny bird-shaped sun.

She listed towards me on extended claws.
Her primrose wings scissored quick across her back.

One dark glossy eye fixed mine.
I felt her asking,
can you tell me the way home?
My heart responded with the forceful wish that I could help.

All the while, her body remained elongated toward the sky.
The moment was too brief for her yellow claws
to flex around the wooden rail before she rose again.

On unfolded wings, amber-dusted by the sinking light,
she flew up, arrow-perfect, between the moss-draped branches,
and disappeared into the golden hour sky.

“Bird Shaped Sun”, An Eco – Poem / A Bird Poem By Henry India Holden , published in the Lark is About The Speaker’s Encounter with A Yellow Warbler. It is noted that The Speaker identifies the Yellow Bird as Female Warbler. However, the minute details of the Yellow Bird observed by him during the golden hour sky in the Morning, has not been described. He is not aware of an ornithologic funda about the Birds and is unsure of her identity. That’s why He names his Poem Bird – Shaped Sun. The yelloness of the Birds ,and thus of Nature becomes overriding over the Skyward Ly Sun. The Yellow Warbler overweighs The morning Sun. And This Bird Poem spreads preponderating power or influence experienced while remaining in natural surrounding that could come from the woods in to the porch of the house.. . Yet, the emotions passed between the Speaker and A Yellow Warbler is , listenable. : : ” One dark glossy eye fixed mine.
I felt her asking,
can you tell me the way home?
My heart responded with the forceful wish that I could help.” Her “elongated body remained skyward”.. . ( flight seems ) “arrow- perfect.”

“Bird – Shaped Sun”, A Bird Poem by Henry India Holden , Information Appreciation and poem Analysis Presented by V Jayaraj Pune India November 19, 2023 : : : : : : : :

To The Road : Paul Laurence Dunbar : : Bird Poems : :

Paul Laurence Dunbar (June 27, 1872, Dayton , Ohio – February 9, 1906 , Aged 33, Dayton, Ohio ) was an American poet, novelist, and short story writer of the late 19th and early 20th centuries. Born in Dayton, Ohio, to parents who had been enslaved in Kentucky before the American Civil War, Dunbar began writing stories and verse when he was a child. He published his first poems at the age of 16 in a Dayton newspaper, and served as president of his high school’s literary society. : : Dunbar became one of the first African-American writers to establish an international reputation. In addition to his poems, short stories, and novels, he also wrote the lyrics for the musical comedy In Dahomey (1903), the first all-African-American musical produced on Broadway in New York. The musical later toured in the United States and the United Kingdom. Suffering from tuberculosis, which then had no cure, Dunbar died in Dayton, Ohio, at the age of 33. : : Much of Dunbar’s more popular work in his lifetime was written in the “Negro dialect” associated with the antebellum South, though he also used the Midwestern regional dialect of James Whitcomb Riley. : : Dunbar also wrote in conventional English in other poetry and novels and is considered the first important African American sonnet writer . : : Since the late 20th century, scholars have become more interested in these other works.

To The Road : : By Paul Laurence Dunbar
Cool is the wind, for the summer is waning,
Who ‘s for the road?
Sun-flecked and soft, where the dead leaves are raining,
Who ‘s for the road?
Knapsack and alpenstock press hand and shoulder,
Prick of the brier and roll of the boulder;[Pg 164]
This be your lot till the season grow older;
Who ‘s for the road?
Up and away in the hush of the morning,
Who ‘s for the road?
Vagabond he, all conventions a-scorning,
Who ‘s for the road?
Music of warblers so merrily singing,
Draughts from the rill from the roadside up-springing,
Nectar of grapes from the vines lowly swinging,
These on the road.
Now every house is a hut or a hovel,
Come to the road:
Mankind and moles in the dark love to grovel,
But to the road.
Throw off the loads that are bending you double;
Love is for life, only labor is trouble;
Truce to the town, whose best gift is a bubble:
Come to the road!

“To The Road”, A Bird Poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar is About inviting to come to the road; while the Poet Speaker asks for his intended inquiry about who is for the road ? : Coming or say , going to the road symbolises life itself. And it is for the journey “To The Road” with hopes. The poem is about the “waning”of the summertime scene of the road where the “sun-flecked dead soft leaves”are raining, meaning, the leaves having dotted markings are falling steadily. The “knapsack”, that is a backpack and “alpenstock”, that is a sturdy garment press hand and shoulder while walking on the road. “Prick of the brier and roll of the boulder” , that is some ‘thorny plant’s pointed twig’ and a ‘large piece of rock’ roll off to your steps of walking on the road as they are lying in a lot during the older stage of season.

There is a stillness in the quiet “in the hush of the morning” 🌅 : : “Vagabond he, all conventions a-scorning,”Meaning, it’s a time to change the abode , and not calling together : perhaps noone has convoked you.

Then The Poet Speaker brings out what there is on the road. : ” Music of warblers so merrily singing, Songbirds The Warblers will continue with their joyous singi till the Springtime ends. )
Draughts from the rill from the roadside up-springing, ( that is , a current of air drawn from the roadside rill / the small rivulet/ a streamlet/ channel )
Nectar of grapes from the vines lowly swinging,” ( last lot of grapes from the vines of the season, now fully ripened, so it is undiluted , very sweet juice like “Nectar”) : :

“Now every house is a hut or a hovel,
( big house are not found , only hovel / shanty )
Mankind and moles in the dark love to grovel,” ( darkness is a metaphor for fear , wherein man or an animal like “moles” : small velvety burrowing mammal with soft furr , show expected submissiveness as they “love to grovel )

Under the all circumstances and situations all around your journey of life, you have to be, ” But to the road” : so ” Throw off the loads that are bending you double;
Love is for life, only labor is trouble;
Truce to the town, whose best gift is a bubble:
Come to the road!“

Thus The Poet Speaker has advanced before his readers to pick up the gauntlet thrown in his poetic urges established while hopefully going to the road or coming to the road to enjoy the sweetness of the journey of life and merriment found in the singing / songs of the Songbirds , The Warblers. : : : :

” To The Road”, A Road Poem /Bird Poem By Paul Laurence Dunbar Information Appreciation and poem Analysis Presented by V Jayaraj Pune India November 18 , 2023 : : : : : : : :

The Whimsical Warbler : Geeta Radhakrishna Menon : : Bird Poems : :

Bird 6 – The Whimsical Warbler : : By Geeta Radhakrishna Menon , Mumbai ( India ) : : : : ous Poem

The songs of a warbler
Sometimes sharp, screechy and shrill,
At times, long, frilly and trill,
Many a time, melodious and entertaining!

Warblers may look like a brown sparrow,
But they belong to a large family of
Muscicapidae – with sounds of varied tones,
Many shades of brown, yellow, green and grey!

The pale footed bush warbler,
Tip toe, tip toeing on the evergreen grass,
Hip hop, hip hopping in the thick bushes,
Flying with ease around trees and the pine forests!

The large billed bush warbler
Prefers low thorny scrubby terrain,
They fly into rank grass and fringing forest,
Active arboreal birds with rounded wings!

The brown bush warbler loves
The grassy highs and downs,
Gliding through the breezy hillside,
Singing a merry, catchy tune!

The Indian great reed warbler
Flies around reed beds and shrubs,
Ponds, lakes, canals and
Into the islands of Andaman and Sri Lanka!

The paddy field warbler
Loves the rice and paddy fields,
Elephant grass, wispy willows
Wow! The Sugarcane fields too.

Wish I were a whimsical warbler,
Flying along hills, fields and forests,
Singing with the rhythmic wind,
Whistling wonderful songs of love!

” Bird 6 – The Whimsical Warbler”, A Bird Poem by Indian Poet, Geeta Radhakrishna Menon is About Poet Speaker’s Own descriptions of the Songbirds The Warbler : They are 1) The pale footed bush warbler, 2) The large billed bush warbler, 3) The brown bush warbler, 4) The Indian great reed warbler, 5) The paddy field warbler , And 6 ) The Whimsical Warbler, who is a Poet herself , as she wishes to be. She says, “Wish I were a whimsical warbler,
Flying along hills, fields and forests,
Singing with the rhythmic wind,
Whistling wonderful songs of love!” : : : :

Notes for each of the lines Pending visit this post again later on to enjoy the appreciation of the poem V Jayaraj Pune India November 17 , 2023 : : : : : : : :

Audubon Warblers : Kevin L Cole : : Bird Poems : :

**Kevin L. Cole, Ph.D.**
**Professor, English**
**Education**
**B.A., English, Texas A&M, 1991**
**M.A., English, Texas A&M University, 1993**
Ph.D., English, Baylor University, 1999 : : Research interests include but are not limited to: blindness in literature and art; slave narratives; the art of Richard Diebenkorn; liberal arts education; pedgogy related to outdoors education. : : He is the author of the poetry collection Later Summer Plums (2016) and the play Loving Arms (produced in February 2020). Cole has taught English at University of Sioux Falls since 1999. : : Besides , Audubon Warblers , Cole’s noteworthy Poem is , ” Deer Fording The Missouri in Early Afternoon.” : :

A male Audubon’s warbler in breeding plumage. Audubon’s warbler can be found across western North America, breeding from the U.S. to Canada and wintering in Central America. It is an active bird, often seen flying between branches of trees. In the summer the males have a distinctive yellow throat and a dark head and back. : : Order : Passeriformes : : Family: **Parulidae** : : Both males and females measure between 12–14 centimetres (4.7–5.5 in) long, with a wingspan of 19–23 centimetres (7.5–9.1 in). Both genders typically weigh between 12–13 grams (0.42–0.46 oz) : : A study done in 2011 concluded that Audubon’s warbler is itself the result of hybridization of the myrtle warbler and black-fronted warbler. The study found that Audubon’s warbler and the myrtle warbler share mitochondrial DNA and migratory patterns and northern Audubon’s warblers’ nuclear allele frequency and wing span were an average between the Myrtle Warbler and black-fronted warbler while southern Audubon’s warblers allele frequency and wing span mimicked the black-fronted warbler. In the spring and summer, the adult male has a dark back with a bright yellow throat, rump, and flank patch, and black head and back. : : The juvenile male is similarly colored but with more black in its tail and can be distinguished by its incomplete wing panel . : : In the fall and winter, the adult male has a grey and black back with black lores and black streaks in the breast. : : significant overlap with the adult female so the identification of the adult male can be conclusive only if there is extensive black across the back and breast. : :

Female Audubon’s warbler in summer plumage : : Audubon’s warbler tends to be rather active, typically spotted while catching insects during the warmer months in the year.[2] During the colder months of the year Audubon’s warbler is usually found eating berries and traveling in flocks.

The breeding habitat is a variety of coniferous and mixed woodland. Audubon’s warblers nest in a tree, laying four or five eggs in a cup nest. : : The adult female’s throat and shoulders contain less yellow than the males and is further distinguished by the brown in its back and its white wing bars compared to the white wing panels of the males.. : The juvenile female is much browner than the adult female and has whitish shoulders and some yellow in the throat. : : The adult female and juvenile male are virtually indistinguishable and have lighter breast streaking and are browner than the adult male. The juvenile female is very dull and has a slightly-tinted yellow throat but there is considerable overlap between the juvenile female and adult female. The two can only be definitely distinguished in cases where the juvenile throat is white or the juvenile displays two feather ages in its greater converts. : :

**female Audubon’s warbler in winter plumage.**

Audubon Warblers : : By Kevin L Cole
The Audubon warblers keep the time of their coming,
Arriving on stillness of a storm,
Their breast and backs as dark as low bruised banks of cloud,
Rumps and throats as yellow as blooms of buckwheat.

They throng this evening in the newly-leaved
Tender-tipped canopies nervously weaving
Through the catkins like frantic prophets
Bearing some divine prophecy of the coming spring.

I wait, hoping for nothing too grave:
News of ruinous lands, of cutting and swarming locusts,
Of withering vines and empty granaries,
Of fasting, weeping, and rending of garments.

No, I wait for lighter fare:
Perhaps a promise that the green heron will nest
On the west end of the slough and that the ironweed
And wood lily will once again together bloom.

This would be an ample prophecy for another year—
This and a promise to keep the time of their coming.

Poem copyright ©2016 by Kevin L. Cole, “Audubon Warblers,” from Late Summer Plums, (Scurfpea Publishing, 2016). : : From poetryfoundation.org : For Educational Purposes only.

“Audubon Warblers” A Bird Poem by Kevin L Cole is About “Audubon Warblers”, : : Audubon’s warbler (Setophaga auduboni) is a small bird of the family Parulidae. At one time considered a distinct species, discovery of a hybrid zone between it and the myrtle warbler in 1973 has led to it being classified as a subspecies of the yellow- rumped warbler. The Birds of Western States , whereas Myrtle Warblers are the Birds of Eastern States ; Thus Two subspecies found in America. Audubon Warbler has yellow throat, whereas Myrtle Warbler has white throat. Audubon’s” Warblers have more white in the wing than the “Myrtle” Warbler. Female Audubon’s have less distinctly marked faces, lacking the dark ear patches of the “Myrtle” Warbler.The song by Audubon Warblers is a simple trill, and they make a hard check call.

Notes for each of the lines Pending visit this post again later on to enjoy the appreciation of the poem V Jayaraj Pune India November 16 , 2023 : : : :

The Progress of Spring : Alfred Lord Tennyson : : Bird Poems : :

Engraving of Lord Tennyson ( 1809 – 1892 ) : Photo by Time Life Pictures/Mansell/The LIFE Picture Collection via Getty Images. : : : : : : : More than any other Victorian-era writer, Tennyson has seemed the embodiment of his age, both to his contemporaries and to modern readers. In his own day he was said to be—with Queen Victoria and Prime Minister William Gladstone—one of the three most famous living persons, a reputation no other poet writing in English has ever had. As official poetic spokesman for the reign of Victoria, he felt called upon to celebrate a quickly changing industrial and mercantile world with which he felt little in common, for his deepest sympathies were called forth by an unaltered rural England; the conflict between what he thought of as his duty to society and his allegiance to the eternal beauty of nature seems peculiarly Victorian. Even his most severe critics have always recognized his lyric gift for sound and cadence, a gift probably unequaled in the history of English poetry. : : Tennyson can be seen plainly as one of the half-dozen great poets in the English language, probably far above any other Victorian. And that is precisely what his contemporaries thought. : :

The Progress of Spring : : By Alfred Lord Tennyson ( 1809 – 1892 ) : : : :
THE groundflame of the crocus breaks the mould,
Fair Spring slides hither o’er the Southern sea,
Wavers on her thin stem the snowdrop cold
That trembles not to kisses of the bee:
Come Spring, for now from all the dripping eaves
The spear of ice has wept itself away,
And hour by hour unfolding woodbine leaves
O’er his uncertain shadow droops the day.

She comes! The loosen’d rivulets run;
The frost-bead melts upon her golden hair;
Her mantle, slowly greening in the Sun,
Now wraps her close, now arching leaves her bar
To breaths of balmier air;

Up leaps the lark, gone wild to welcome her,
About her glance the ****, and shriek the jays,
Before her skims the jubilant woodpecker,
The linnet’s bosom blushes at her gaze,
While round her brows a woodland culver flits,
Watching her large light eyes and gracious looks,
And in her open palm a halcyon sits
Patient–the secret splendour of the brooks.

Come Spring! She comes on waste and wood,
On farm and field: but enter also here,
Diffuse thyself at will thro’ all my blood,
And, tho’ thy violet sicken into sere,
Lodge with me all the year!

Once more a downy drift against the brakes,
Self-darken’d in the sky, descending slow!
But gladly see I thro’ the wavering flakes
Yon blanching apricot like snow in snow.

These will thine eyes not brook in forest-paths,
On their perpetual pine, nor round the beech;
They fuse themselves to little spicy baths,
Solved in the tender blushes of the peach;
They lose themselves and die
On that new life that gems the hawthorn line;
Thy gay lent-lilies wave and put them by,
And out once more in varnish’d glory shine
Thy stars of celandine.

She floats across the hamlet.
Heaven lours,
But in the tearful splendour of her smiles
I see the slowl-thickening chestnut towers
Fill out the spaces by the barren tiles.

Now past her feet the swallow circling flies,
A clamorous cuckoo stoops to meet her hand;
Her light makes rainbows in my closing eyes,
I hear a charm of song thro’ all the land.

Come, Spring! She comes, and Earth is glad
To roll her North below thy deepening dome,
But ere thy maiden birk be wholly clad,
And these low bushes dip their twigs in foam,
Make all true hearths thy home.

Across my garden! and the thicket stirs,
The fountain pulses high in sunnier jets,
The blackcap warbles, and the turtle purrs,
The starling claps his tiny castanets.

Still round her forehead wheels the woodland dove,
And scatters on her throat the sparks of dew,
The kingcup fills her footprint, and above
Broaden the glowing isles of vernal blue.

Hail ample presence of a Queen,
Bountiful, beautiful, apparell’d gay,
Whose mantle, every shade of glancing green,
Flies back in fragrant breezes to display
A tunic white as May!

She whispers, ‘From the South I bring you balm,
For on a tropic mountain was I born,
While some dark dweller by the coco-palm
Watch’d my far meadow zoned with airy morn;
From under rose a muffled moan of floods;
I sat beneath a solitude of snow;
There no one came, the turf was fresh, the woods
Plunged gulf on gulf thro’ all their vales below
I saw beyond their silent tops
The steaming marshes of the scarlet cranes,
The slant seas leaning oll the mangrove copse,
And summer basking in the sultry plains
About a land of canes;

‘Then from my vapour-girdle soaring forth
I scaled the buoyant highway of the birds,
And drank the dews and drizzle of the North,
That I might mix with men, and hear their words
On pathway’d plains; for–while my hand exults
Within the bloodless heart of lowly flowers
To work old laws of Love to fresh results,
Thro’ manifold effect of simple powers–
I too would teach the man
Beyond the darker hour to see the bright,
That his fresh life may close as it began,
The still-fulfilling promise of a light
Narrowing the bounds of night.
‘

So wed thee with my soul, that I may mark
The coming year’s great good and varied ills,
And new developments, whatever spark
Be struck from out the clash of warring wills;
Or whether, since our nature cannot rest,
The smoke of war’s volcano burst again
From hoary deeps that belt the changeful West,
Old Empires, dwellings of the kings of men;
Or should those fail, that hold the helm,
While the long day of knowledge grows and warms,
And in the heart of this most ancient realm
A hateful voice be utter’d, and alarms
Sounding ‘To arms! to arms!’

A simpler, saner lesson might he learn
Who reads thy gradual process, Holy Spring.

Thy leaves possess the season in their turn,
And in their time thy warblers rise on wing.

How surely glidest thou from March to May,
And changest, breathing it, the sullen wind,
Thy scope of operation, day by day,
Larger and fuller, like the human mind ‘
Thy warmths from bud to bud
Accomplish that blind model in the seed,
And men have hopes, which race the restless blood
That after many changes may succeed
Life, which is Life indeed.

” The Progress of Spring”, A Springtime Poem & A Bird Poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson ( 1809 – 1892 ) is a Nature Poem and Speaks About “Men’s Hopes, which race the restless blood” while gladly welcoming “Fair Spring ( that ) slides the place” towards the Poet Speaker,”o’er the Southern sea”, and changes the Season in terms of weather , balmy air and airy morning, the landscape, the flora and fauna , the waste and wood the farm and field, and most importantly the various life forms. The Poet Speaker more categorically describes the buoyant highway of the birds, their behavioural patterns like in jays, woodpecker, Cuckoo’s,linnet , woodland culver, halcyon, and Warblers, etc.In the end , based on his observation of “the progress of Spring” and changes in the all earth around , Tennyson concludes “That after many changes may succeed
Life, which is Life indeed.” : : : :

Notes for each of the Stanzas Pending visit this post again later on to enjoy the appreciation of the poem V Jayaraj Pune India November 15, 2023 : : : : : : : :

On The Death Of Robert Riddell : Robert Burns : : Bird Poems : :

459. Sonnet on the Death of Robert Riddell : : By Robert Burns
NO more, ye warblers of the wood! no more;
Nor pour your descant grating on my soul;
Thou young-eyed Spring! gay in thy verdant stole,
More welcome were to me grim Winter’s wildest roar.

How can ye charm, ye flowers, with all your dyes?
Ye blow upon the sod that wraps my friend!
How can I to the tuneful strain attend?
That strain flows round the untimely tomb where Riddell lies.

Yes, pour, ye warblers! pour the notes of woe,
And soothe the Virtues weeping o’er his bier:
The man of worth—and hath not left his peer!
Is in his “narrow house,” for ever darkly low.

Thee, Spring! again with joy shall others greet;
Me, memory of my loss will only meet.
— Robert Burns

” On The Death of Robert Riddell”, A Sonnet and A Bird Poem By Robert Burns is About A Sonnet Written on the death of Captain Robert Riddell (1755–1794), Laird of Friar’s Carse, near Dumfries.

A friend of Robert Burns, who made him a collection of his poems which later became famous, and wrote a poem ‘Sonnet On The Death Of Robert Riddell’ in memory of him when he died.

*In the First Quatrain, Burns requests the Songbird , The Wood Warblers who still sing a “descant”( line 2 ) on a melodious tune. If the Songbird continues with the same he will register more and more improvised yodeling etc. at length ; Or decorative accompaniment which will be like “pour(ing) grating on my soul”( line 2 ), that is scratchy or unpleasantly harsh as Burns explains further, in his continued pensive voice, ” Thou young-eyed Spring! gay in thy verdant stole,
More welcome were to me grim Winter’s wildest roar.”( lines 3 & 4 ) in First Quatrain. The Wood Warblers are Songbird relaying joyous songs in the Spring. What is stolen by Warblers is the greenness in abundance , ( ” verdant “, meaning the lush green verdure or the flourishing vegetation abundantly found during 🌱 🌱 Springtime. Burns being abounded with the shocking state of filled melancholy, like to “grim winter’s ☃️❄️ wildest roars”would not welcome what he said, “young eyed spring”with its “gay”ness. : : : :

* * In The Second Quatrain, Burns exclaims with annoyance by blasting a harsh criticism. : “How can ye charm, ye flowers, with all your dyes? Ye blow upon the sod that wraps my friend!” ( lines 5 & 6 )

The Songbird , The Warblers give his nose a loud blow “upon the sod ( that is cover ) that wraps ( his) friend! ”

Burns have to endure the stress and strains alongside the Warbler’s high pitched singing with difficulty in “attending the tuneful strain that flows round the untimely tomb where Riddell lies.” ( line 8 ) which is too much for him.

* * * The Third Quatrain is About The Intense mournfulness showing the Poet Speaker’s misery resulting from affliction in his state of great suffering, and distress due to adversity he sees, listens, and feels at the demise and funeral of his dear friend which is untimely in that years Springtime.

Hence, Burns asks the Songbird , The Wood Warblers “to pour the notes of woe, And soothe the Virtues weeping o’er his bier:” ( lines 9 & 10 ) while following the “bier”, that is coffin to the graveyard prior to the burial. 🪦🪦: : Moreover, The Poet Speaker Burns asks The Songbird to soothe the virtues weeping over the bier. ( Like medicines soothe the pain and cause to feel better ) Here over, he means that the Warblers should give the moral or emotional strength so that his merited virtues will have a speaking solace in better relief in affliction. He is a “man of worth”, that is a merited and valuable man with useful quality and ” has not left his peer” ( line 11 ) ” Is in his “narrow house,” for ever darkly low.” ( line 12 ) : : : :

# Couplet : : “Thee, Spring! again with joy shall others greet; 13
Me, memory of my loss will only meet.” 14 : :

The last message of the Sonnet is conversed through the Continued Conversation , this time with “Spring”saying , : You, shall express greetings with joy , upon meeting others ; ( line 13 ) ( and , what is left is , “Me” whose memory of loss of his friend , Mr. Robert Riddell will only meet the Springtime of the year,1794 , which shall be woefully tearful. ( line 14 ) : : : :

“On the Death of Robert Riddell”, A Sonnet and A Bird Poem By Robert Burns , Information Appreciation and poem Analysis Presented by V Jayaraj Pune India November 14 , 2023 : : : : : : : :

Thrush Poems : Various Poets : : Bird Poems : :

Thrush Poems : : Various Poets : : : : …………: : * My Thrush : : by Mortimer Collins : :

▼
All through the sultry hours of June,
From morning blithe to golden noon,
And till the star of evening climbs
The gray-blue East, a world too soon,
There sings a Thrush amid the limes.
God’s poet, hid in foliage green,
Sings endless songs, himself unseen;
Right seldom come his silent times.
Linger, ye summer hours serene!
Sing on, dear Thrush, amid the limes!
Nor from these confines wander out,
Where the old gun, bucolic lout,
Commits all day his murderous crimes:
Though cherries ripe are sweet, no doubt,
Sweeter thy song amid the limes.
May I not dream God sends thee there,
Thou mellow angel of the air,
Even to rebuke my earthlier rhymes
With music’s soul, all praise and prayer?
Is that thy lesson in the limes?
Closer to God art thou than I:
His minstrel thou, whose brown wings fly
Through silent ether’s summer climes.
Ah, never may thy music die!
Sing on, dear Thrush, amid the limes!

** : : The Hermit Thrush : : by Augustus Wight Bomberger

▼
Sweet singer, in the high and holy place
Of this dim-lit cathedral of the hills;
With reverent brow and unuplifted face,
I quaff the cup thy melody distills!
What sparkling well of limpid music springs
Within thy breast, to quench my thirst like this!
What nameless chords are hid beneath thy wings,
That all my soul is lifted by thy bliss!
Perchance the same mysterious desire
Hath brought us both to this deep shrine as one;
For now—it burns a single flame of fire,
Dropped through the branches from the setting sun!
And as thou singest, lo, the voice is mine,
Each note, a thought; each thought, a silent prayer,
Of joy, of peace—of ecstasy divine,
Poured forth upon the fragrant woodland air!
And I, who stand apart, am not alone,
Here, in these great cathedral aisles untrod;
O, Hermit, thou hast opened Heaven, unknown,
And through thy song have I communed with God.

* * * : : Hermit Thrush : : by Hilda Conkling : :
Something that cannot be said in words . . .
Something sweet and unknown . . .
The wind . . . the brook . . .
Something that comes to a trembling fuller tone
Like a waterfall . . .
That little brown creature is singing
A music of water, a music of worlds;
He will fly away south,
But his song stays in the heart
Once it is heard.

* V : : “Blow Softly, Thrush” : : by Joseph Russell Taylor

▼
Blow softly, thrush, upon the hush
That makes the least leaf loud,
Blow, wild of heart, remote, apart
From all the vocal crowd,
Apart, remote, a spirit note
That dances meltingly afloat,
Blow faintly, thrush!
And build the green-hid waterfall
I hated for its beauty, and all
The unloved vernal rapture and flush,
The old forgotten lonely time,
Delicate thrush!
Spring’s at the prime, the world’s in chime,
And my love is listening nearly;
O lightly blow the ancient woe,
Flute of the wood, blow clearly!
Blow, she is here, and the world all dear,
Melting flute of the hush,
Old sorrow estranged, enriched, sea-changed,
Breathe it, veery thrush!

V : : Hermit-Thrush Sextons : : by Amos Russel Wells

▼
In the hushed and reverent woodland
Where the twilight shadows dwell
All the birds are going to meeting,
And the hermit rings the bell.
“Co-o-ome, come to church this evening,”
So the little sexton sings;
“Co-o-ome, come to prayer and praises,”
Through the woods the summon rings.
Then another hermit answers
From a belfry green and high;
“Co-o-ome, yes, we’ll come and gladly,”
Is the musical reply.
Soon across the woodland spaces
Other sextons ply their bells,
Till the forest is a-quiver
Deep in all its hidden dells.
And the wistful mortal straying
Underneath the brooding trees,
Captured by the mood of worship,
Sinks his soul on bended knees.
Spoken words and ritual order?
Stately spire and arched hall?
Nay, the world is a cathedral
When we hear the hermit’s call.

V * : : Overflow : : by John Banister Tabb

▼
Hush!
With sudden gush
As from a fountain, sings in yonder bush
The Hermit Thrush.
Hark!
Did ever Lark
With swifter scintillations fling the spark
That fires the dark?
Again,
Like April rain
Of mist and sunshine mingled, moves the strain
O’er hill and plain.
Strong
As love, O Song,
In flame or torrent sweep through Life along,
O’er grief and wrong.

V * * : : The Redwing : : by Bliss Carman. A redwing is a bird in the thrush family.

▼
I hear you, Brother, I hear you,
Down in the alder swamp,
Springing your woodland whistle
To herald the April pomp!
First of the moving vanguard,
In front of the spring you come,
Where flooded waters sparkle
And streams in the twilight hum.
You sound the note of the chorus
By meadow and woodland pond,
Till, one after one up-piping,
A myriad throats respond.
I see you, Brother, I see you,
With scarlet under your wing,
Flash through the ruddy maples,
Leading the pageant of spring.
Earth has put off her raiment
Wintry and worn and old,
For the robe of a fair young sibyl,
Dancing in green and gold.
I heed you, Brother. To-morrow
I, too, in the great employ,
Will shed my old coat of sorrow
For a brand-new garment of joy.

V * * * : : The Hermit Thrush : : by John Burroughs

▼
In the primal forest’s hush,
Listen!…the hermit thrush!
Silver chords of purest sound
Pealing through the depths profound,
Tranquil rapture, unafraid
In the fragrant morning shade.
Pausing in the twilight dim,
Hear him lift his evening hymn,
Clear it rings from mountain crest,
Pulsing out from speckled breast.
Day is done, the moon doth soar,
Still the hermit, o’er and o’er,
In the deep’ning twilight long
Holds and swells his cadenced song.
Purest sounds are farthest heard,
Voice of man or song of bird,
And the hermit’s silver horn
In dreaming night or dewy morn
Is a serene, ethereal psalm,
Devoutly gay, divinely calm —
The soul of song, the breath of prayer,
In melody beyond compare,
‘T is borne afar on every breeze,
Nor captive held by housing trees.
Where louder voices faint and fail
The hermit’s purer tones prevail.
O silver throat, O golden heart,
What magic in thy artless art!
In boyhood days I knew thee well
And yielded to thy music’s spell.
Thy tawny wing, thy silent flight,
Thy gesture soft when thou didst light,
Thy graceful pose, thy gentle mien,
Thy still reserve when thou wast seen.
I knew the woods where thou didst bide,
I knew the nest that was thy pride—
An open secret on the ground
By russet leaves encompassed round.
I linger long where thou dost sing,
To drink my fill of everything
That waves above or blooms below,
And all that sylvan spirits know—
The hoary trunks, the whispering leaves,
Pewee that pensive sighs and grieves,
Clintonia with her modest bells,
Columbine with honeyed cells,
Violet pale and orchid rare,
Fragrant brakes and maiden-hair,
Mitchella with her floral twins,
Crimson fruit that partridge wins,
Oxalis with her girlish face,
Squirrel corn with leafy grace,
Herb Robert rank, with veinèd eye,
And liver leaf “to match the sky”—
These and others fair and sweet
Bedeck the floor of thy retreat.
Two other birds oft with thee fare
And syllable the wilding air.
The veery thrush blows in his flute
When all but thou and he are mute—
Reverb’rant note in leafy halls
That echo to his fluty calls.
And winter wren with thee abides,—
A dapper bird that skulks and hides,
Now court’sying on a mossy stone,
Then ducking ‘neath a tree-trunk prone;
Pert his mien, his wondrous throat
Quivers and throbs with rapid note—
A lyric burst with power imbued
To thrill and shake the solitude.
But thou art master in these aisles,
Our troubled hearts thy strain beguiles;
Deep solemn joy thy soul knoweth well.
Chant on, from heights where thou dost dwell,
Thy hymn of faith, thy peace, thy prayer—
A benediction on the air.

* X : : Joy-Month : : by David Atwood Wasson

▼
Oh, hark to the brown thrush! hear how he sings!
How he pours the dear pain of his gladness!
What a gush! and from out what golden springs!
What a rage of how sweet madness!
And golden the buttercup blooms by the way,
A song of the joyous ground;
While the melody rained from yonder spray
Is a blossom in fields of sound.
How glisten the eyes of the happy leaves!
How whispers each blade, “I am blest!”
Rosy Heaven his lips to flowered earth gives,
With the costliest bliss of his breast.
Pour, pour of the wine of thy heart, O Nature!
By cups of field and of sky,
By the brimming soul of every creature!—
Joy-mad, dear Mother, am I.
Tongues, tongues for my joy, for my joy! more tongues!—
Oh, thanks to the thrush on the tree,
To the sky, and to all earth’s blooms and songs!
They utter the heart in me.

X : : The Music-Lesson : : by Mathilde Blind

▼
A thrush alit on a young-leaved spray,
And, lightly clinging,
It rocked in its singing
As the rapturous notes rose loud and gay;
And with liquid shakes,
And trills and breaks,
Rippled through blossoming boughs of May.
Like a ball of fluff, with a warm brown throat
And throbbing bosom,
‘Mid the apple-blossom,
The new-fledged nestling sat learning by rote
To echo the song
So tender and strong,
As it feebly put in its frail little note.
O blissfullest lesson amid the green grove!
The low wind crispeth
The leaves, where lispeth
The shy little bird with its parent above;
Two voices that mingle
And make but a single
Hymn of rejoicing in praise of their love.

X * : : The Golden Crowned Thrush : : by Andrew Downing

▼
O, little bird from Mexico!
I do not know your story,
Except—a big book tells me so—
That you are migratory.
Of all the friends the seasons bring
Your loyalty is surest;
You go in autumn, come in spring—
You’re not a winter tourist.
I may have seen a bonny bird
Arrayed in finer feather;
But when your mating-song I heard,
It held me like a tether.
Then trill for me your carol clear,
O, blithe and welcome comer,
For well I know how much you cheer
An Arizona summer.

આંગણ આવ્યો અજવાળાં નો અલબેલો તહેવાર : રમેશ પારેખ : અમર ભટ્ટ : : હેપ્પી દીપાવલી ( નવેમ્બર ૧૨, ૨૦૨૩ ) નવી સાલ મુબારક ( નવેમ્બર ૧૩, ૨૦૨૩ ) : :

આંગણ આવ્યો અજવાળાનો…
Nov 12, 2023
આંગણ આવ્યો અજવાળાનો…

આંગણ આવ્યો અજવાળાનો અલબેલો તહેવાર
વાળી-ઝૂડી અંધકારને ફેંકો ઘરની બહાર
ભાંગ્યા-તૂટ્યા મનોરથોનો કાટમાળ હડસેલી
ઉમળકાનાં તોરણથી શણગારો ઘરની ડેલી

કાટ-ચડ્યાં ગીતોને પંખીના કલરવથી માંજો
અણોસરી આંખોમાં નમણાં-નમણાં સપનાં આંજો
અણબનાવની જૂની-જર્જ૨ખાતાવહીઓ ફાડો
નવા સૂર્યની સાખે અક્ષર હેત-પ્રીતના પાડો

ભોળાં-ભોળાં સગપણની જો ગૂંથીને ફૂલમાળા
પહેરાવો તો સૂકાં જીવતર બની જશે રઢિયાળાં
સુખની ઘડીઓ કોઈ ત્રાજવાં-તોલાથી ના જોખો
આંગણ આવી ઊભું છે અજવાળું એને પોંખો.

~ રમેશ પારેખ ( દીવાળી ૧૯૯૮ )

સ્વર : અમર ભટ્ટ
સ્વરાંકન : અમર ભટ્ટ

https://drive.google.com/file/d/1YaJw4CK8u2uxym5V-cfUVj7GHEVC0X5V/view?usp=drivesdk ૧૯૯૮ નું આ ગીત : કવિ શ્રી રમેશ પારેખ. : સ્વર : અમર ભટ્ટ : : સ્વરાંકન : અમર ભટ્ટ : : આપણી વ્યક્તિગત રીતે સ્થિર નજરે મનમાં ને મનમાં ધ્યાન વિચાર કરીને શક્યતઃ સ્વીકૃતિ મળી આવે તેમ અર્થ કાવ્યાર્થ વિચાર સહિત પોંખીશું : : જેમાં મદદરૂપ થાય એવી તસ્વીરો અને દ્રષ્ટાંત રૂપ વર્તન- ક્રમ પ્રમાણેના આલેખન જોઈએ તો જરૂર થી જુઓ વાંચજો અને દીવાળી ની તમારી ઉજવણી સાથે નવા વર્ષની અમારી શુભેચ્છાઓ ના સુખદ રંગ મેળવણી ઉમેરશો જી. : : HAPPY DEEWALI & HAPPY NEW YEAR : :