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04
The Cardinal Bird
Where snowdrifts are deepest he frolics along,
A flicker of crimson, a chirrup of song,
My cardinal bird of the frost-powdered wing,
Composing new lyrics
to whistle in Spring.
A plump little prelate, the park is his church;
The pulpit he loves is a cliff-sheltered birch;
And there, in his rubicund livery dressed,
Arranging his feathers and ruffling his crest,
He preaches, with most unconventional glee,
A sermon addressed to the squirrels and me,
Commending the wisdom of those that display
The brightest of colors when heavens are gray.
