Sara Teasdale: Redbirds
Redbirds, redbirds, Long and long ago, What a honey-call you had In hills I used to know;
Redbud, buckberry, Wild plum-tree And proud river sweeping Southward to the sea,
Brown and gold in the sun Sparkling far below, Trailing stately round her bluffs Where the poplars grow —
Redbirds, redbirds, Are you singing still As you sang one May day On Saxton's Hill?