Classic Poem

IN a fashionable gutter,
By Chicago reckoned utter,
Two birds were heard conversing on the weather;
And the first declared — with weight —
That he'd like to know the date
When refrigerated sparrows paired together.

He believed that Valentine
On the other side the brine,
Had decided on the middle of the month,
" But it seems, " he said, " to me
That the period here must be
Deferred to February thirty-oneth. "

" I concede, " said number two,
" The justice of your view,
For where's the good in getting up a wedding,
When you'd search for half a day
For a mouldy bit of hay,
Or a feather that was thawed enough for bedding.

" I have bought a marriage license,
And of course I have a high sense
Of my duty to the warbler who consented,
But one needn't scoop a nest
In a chunk of ice and rest
With the notion she'll be more than half contented.

" Despair has turned me black;
I have shivers down my back,
And my tail is little better than an icicle;
It's a skeleton I am,
And a feather-coated sham,
For I'm skinnier and leaner than a bicycle! "

Just then came flying by
A third with merry cry —
" The thaw has started in to-day for keeps! "
And they cocked their little tails,
For their courage never fails,
And the wedding-cards are out among the Cheeps.


Little buccaneering birdie
You are stout of heart and sturdy;
There is something of the Saxon in your pluck;
And I think you may suggest
From that tangle-town, your nest,
That we must not trust our happiness to luck.

You have conquered every storm
And your breast is throbbing warm
For the building and the brooding soon to be;
Who fashioned you will feed you,
Who laid your path will lead you,
On the thoroughfare, the house-top, or the tree.