There’s a robin’s invitation

And a bluebird’s message sweet,

Bidding us to Forest City

With its crooked moss-grown street;

Feathered folks and folks in ermine

Own the city with its trees,

Own the brooks and own the berries,

Own the dewdrops and the breeze.

There, to-day, there was a concert

In a snowy elder bush,

Opened with a thrilling solo

By a prima-donna thrush.

When the sweet brown-breasted singer

Hushed the wonder of her song,

From her listeners rose an encore

Echoing the hills along;

Tambourines the brooks were shaking,

Clapped the palms on every oak

And from old and trained musicians

Warbled rounds of music broke.

Winds that held their breath to listen

Swept adown the vine-clad rooms,

Crowned the little prima-donna

With soft-shaken elder blooms.

—Mrs. A. S. Hardy.