The Bluebird.
Before you thought of Spring
Except as a surmise
You see God bless his suddenness,
A fellow in the skies,
Of independent hues,
A little weather-worn,
Inspiriting habiliments
Of indigo and brown.
With specimens of song
As if for you to choose
Discretion in the interval,
With gay delays he goes
To some superior tree
Without a single leaf
And shouts for joy to nobody
But his seraphic self.