Past my window, brilliant crimson Flashes to the elm tree's bough; Soon I hear a red bird calling, Liquid notes ascending now. Low, then growing loud and clearer On the springtime's fragrant breeze, Red bird notes, now far, now nearer, From my garden's tallest trees. Now I catch again the glory Of the red bird's crimson wing, As he whistles soft the story To his mate: "Sweet! Sweet! 'Tis Spring!" Flitting through the honeysuckles, Guarding nests beyond my view, In and out, with bright wings flashing Through the blossoms drenched with dew, Spring and Love-time in my garden! Sweet content once more is mine As I watch my red birds building In the honeysuckle vine. |