1913.]
THE GREAT BLUE HERON
485
The violets under the boughs make room.
And because the heron is on the wing,
The earth blooms into the waking spring!
And because the heron is on the wing,
The earth blooms into the waking spring!
And the heron? They say he seeks some tree,
The tallest northmost pine maybe,
Beyond the great blue Northern lakes,
And here it is his rest he takes,
Away from human sound and sight;
And he sleeps by day, and he dreams by night.
He sleeps with his head beneath his wing,
And he pays no heed to anything
Save his dreams of the year
And the tides of spring.
’Til he knows again ’t is the mystic day,
’T is the time once more to fly away;
’Til he knows once more ’t is the mystic time
To fly again to the Southern clime.
The tallest northmost pine maybe,
Beyond the great blue Northern lakes,
And here it is his rest he takes,
Away from human sound and sight;
And he sleeps by day, and he dreams by night.
He sleeps with his head beneath his wing,
And he pays no heed to anything
Save his dreams of the year
And the tides of spring.
’Til he knows again ’t is the mystic day,
’T is the time once more to fly away;
’Til he knows once more ’t is the mystic time
To fly again to the Southern clime.
O great blue heron, wake and fly!
We are tired of the clouds and the leaden sky;—
We are tired of winter, my brother and I.
We are tired of the clouds and the leaden sky;—
We are tired of winter, my brother and I.
