Gold plume and silver plume,
Comb of coral gay ;
’Tis he packs off the night and gloom,
And summons home the day!
Black fear he sends it flying,
Black care he drives afar;
And creeping shadows sighing
Before the morning star.
The birds of all the forest
Have dear and pleasant cheer,
But yet I hold the rarest
The farmyard Chanticleer.
Red cock or black cock,
Gold plume or white,
The flower of all the feathered flock,
He whistles back the light!
—Katharine Tynan Hinkson.
VERSE
Now rings the woodland loud and long,
The distance takes a lovelier hue,
And drowned in yonder living blue,
The lark becomes a sightless song.
22
