Poem by 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?

1. Gray Fog
2. Spring Torrents
3. Morning Song
4. Nahant
5. White Fog

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