Woodland Chimes

The trees are full, with cheery song,
Of merry minstrels, morning long.
They call and sing, in each, full green,
Beneath the leafy, shade unseen.

Faceless, nameless, fond and feathered,
Upon the branches, warm and weathered.
Song-birds each, on woodland wing,
Wistful songs, and warbles bring.

Amidst the dawning's sun-strung tears,
Cry the mourning, chime the cheers.
Harp strings spangled, softly strewn,
Perching pluck, their playful tune.

What burning red, what royal blue;
What color breasted, hither flew?
What fair tufts, what eyes gleaming,
Witnessed dawn, in moonlight teeming?

I rise and wander, each tree past,
Across the velvet, meadow vast.
With humble might, and willful eye,
To hark the song-birds, caw and cry-

To catch one flashing, color bright,
Behold this wondrous, woodland sprite.
For to glimpse each minstrel free,
Chirping chiming, merrily.