Edmund C. Stedman

No clouds are in the morning sky,
The vapors hug the stream,
Who says that life and read more

No clouds are in the morning sky,
The vapors hug the stream,
Who says that life and love can die
In all this northern gleam?
At every turn the maples burn,
The quail is whistling free,
The partridge whirs, and the frosted burs
Are dropping for you and me.
Ho! hillyho! heigh O!
Hillyho!
In the clear October morning.

Bird of the amber beak,
Bird of the golden wing!
Thy dower is thy carolling;
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Bird of the amber beak,
Bird of the golden wing!
Thy dower is thy carolling;
Thou hast not far to seek
Thy bread, nor needest wine
To make thy utterance divine;
Thou art canopied and clothed
And unto Song bethrothed.

Whither away, Bluebird,
Whither away?
The blast is chill, yet in the upper sky
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Whither away, Bluebird,
Whither away?
The blast is chill, yet in the upper sky
Thou still canst find the color of thy wing,
The hue of May.
Warbler, why speed, thy southern flight? ah, why,
Thou, too, whose song first told us of the Spring?
Whither away?

When buttercups are blossoming,
The poets sand, 'tis best to wed:
So all for love we paired read more

When buttercups are blossoming,
The poets sand, 'tis best to wed:
So all for love we paired in Spring--
Blanche and I--ere youth had sped.

Alas, by what rude fate
Our lives, like ships at sea, an instant meet,
Then part forever read more

Alas, by what rude fate
Our lives, like ships at sea, an instant meet,
Then part forever on their courses fleet.