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Poetry
Gallery

70

To the Golden Crowned Sparrow in Alaska

Oh, minstrel of these borean hills,
Where twilight hours are long
I would my boyhood fragrant days
Had known thy [?] song.

Had known thy nest of ashen gray,
My coat of drab and [crossed out: gray] brown,
The lives of jet upon thy [crossed out: brown] head
Beside thy golden crown

We heard thee in the cold White Pass,
Where cloud and mountain meet;
Again where [?] great glacial shore
Far spread beneath our feet.

I bask me now on emerald heights,
To catch thy faintest strain;
But cannot tell if in thy lay
There is more joy or pain

Far off behold the snow-white peaks
Athwart the seas's blue shade;
A near there rise green Kodiak hills
Wherein thy nest is made

I hear the wild bee's mellow chord
In airs that swim above;
The lesser Hermit tunes his flute
To solitude and love

But thou, sweet singer of the wild,
I give more heed to thee ;
 Thy wistful strain of fond regret
 Strikes deeper chords in me.

Farewell, dear bird, I turn my face
To other skies than thine;
A thousand leagues of land and sea
Lie 'tween thy home and mine

Kodiak - July 4th - 99 -

John Burroughs