pdf download - Westerly Magazine

THE BLACKBIRDA bird in the branches shrills his note.Then hops, agog with hopefulness.In tan topboots and black dresscoatJauntily on the rime-white grass.A blackbird: simple songster who(For calendars are Greek to him)Dreams of sunshine and runs through.In February, April's hymn.Yet rain teems down; the wind blows cold;By yellow Arve blue Rhone is dyed;Drawing-rooms, draped with hangings, holdTheir company fast by the fireside.Like judges on the bench in state.The mountains sit all gowned in ermine;The case of Winter loitering lateThis white tribunal must determine.Preening his glossy wing, the birdPersists in singing, past all reason—By rain, snow, fog quite undeterred.Believing in the infant season.He scolds the laggard dawn that stillLies indolently slumbering;And chiding flowers that fear the chillCalls urgently upon the Spring.Beyond the dark he sees day smile.As in some holy place, despiteDesolate altar, sombre aisle.Believers glimpse through faith God's light.He trusts to Nature's law, which heDivines by instinct strong and true.Who scoffs at your philosophy.Brave blackbird, is less wise than you!WESTERLY, No. 1 of 1 967 45