Now and then I heard,
when all was still, from his nesting-place, the brave yet delicate
notes of the song sparrow, singing in his dreams from out a happy,
overflowing heart. Dear little fluff of feathers!
I was thinking of the brood of young partridges I scared in the woods,
and how like a flash, mysteriously and totally, they disappeared in the
underbrush. I was thinking of the tiny newts and wonderful creatures I
found in the shallow water in the meadow ditch. I was thinking that if
the saracenas were in bloom I would go to find some of them on the
morrow; or if the brilliant cardinals were, I would hunt for them at
the brookside; or if there were any yellow violets to be had I wanted
to find them, as I had found many varieties.
Then I turned my head and listened more earnestly to the music or to
the conversation in the parlor, of inspired men and women, talking in
low, conversational tones, with now and then a spice of wit, on art,
religion, science or the lives of great painters, musicians, artists
and reformers. Or I was looking to see if the "Northern Cross" had
appeared among the constellations above the horizon. Or maybe I heard
George W. Curtis, who had come to visit his old teachers, singing the
"Erl King" or "Good-night to Julia" or plaintive "Kathleen Mavourneen"
in his inimitable way.
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