BLUSH FOR THE BIRD

Timaru Herald, Volume CXXXIV, Issue 18849, 11 April 1931, Page 5

BLUSH FOR THE BIRD

Ralph Cheyney in “The Poetry World.” The cardinal wears a scarlet gown. He perches high above the town And flings impassioned music down On sober merchant, solemn clown. The blackbird preens on topmost twig And sings till his little throat grows big A tune as gag as a whirligig To boor and pedant, bore and prig. While even the timid hermit thrush Will shatter the very quietest hush With burning notes in wanton rush Till the puritanical should blush. For what is the burden of all they croon, The sense of each glad rigadoon They shrill so loud they almost swoon In lyric dusk or blatant noon? What nearly bursts each tiny throat Has nothing to do with business or vote Or bond or soul or book or note. No, nothing at all he learned by rote. Each lustrous anthem woos his mate, And passion is each carol’s freight. For loving, laying must not wait Till fall is here or season late. He struts. He flirts. He is not prim. Quite unaverse to your hearing him, He sings for love and not your whim. He is this poet's paradigm.