I had been noticing a number of
House Wrens (?) singing from one of
the old granaries. Then one evening while
taking a walk I heard a real commotion
in a grove of trees and found a whole family
of Wrens. They are a lovely, elegant bird
and noisy little bird.
"All summer long that little wren
Would chatter like a saucy thing;
And in the bush attack the thrush
That on the hawthorn perched to sing.
Like many noisy little men,
Lived, bragged, and fought that little wren"
"To feast on summer sounds; the jolted wains,
The thrasher humming from the farm near by,
The prattling cricket's intermittent cry,
The locust's rattle from the sultry lanes;
Or in the shadow of some oaken spray,
To watch, as through a mist of light and dreams,
The far-off hay-fields, where the dusty teams
Drive round and round the lessening squares of hay,
And hear upon the wind, now loud, now low,
With drowsy cadence half a summer's day,
The clatter of the reapers come and go."
The Comfort of the Fields