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A FLAME went flitting through the wood; | |
The neighboring birds all understood | |
Here was a marvel of their kind; | |
And silent was each feathered throat | |
To catch the brilliant strangers note, | 5 |
And folded every songsters wing | |
To hide its sober coloring. | |
Against the tender green outlined, | |
He bore himself with splendid ease, | |
As though alone among the trees. | 10 |
The glory passed from bough to bough | |
The maple was in blossom now, | |
And then the oak, remembering | |
The crimson hint it gave in spring, | |
And every tree its branches swayed | 15 |
And offered its inviting shade; | |
Whereer a bough detained him long, | |
A slender, silver thread of song | |
Was lightly, merrily unspun. | |
From early morn till day was done | 20 |
The vision flitted to and fro. | |
At last the wood was all alone; | |
But, ere the restless flame had flown, | |
He left a secret with each bough, | |
And in the Fall, where one is now, | 25 |
A thousand tanagers will glow. | |
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