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?