A blossom hangs the choke-cherry
And eke the chestnut burr,
And thou a silly fowl must be,
Thou red-head wood-peckere.
_Picas Erythrocephalus_:
Turn back, turn back, thou pale student,
Nor in the forest go;
There lurks beneath his bosky tent
The deadly mosquito,
And there the wooden-chuck doth tread,
And from the oak-tree's top
The red, red squirrels on thy head
The frequent acorn drop.
_Pale Student_:
The wooden-chuck is next of kin
Unto the wood-peckere:
I fear not thine ill-boding din,
And why should I fear her?
What though a score of acorns drop
And squirrels' fur be red!
'Tis not so ruddy as thy top--
So scarlet as thy head.
O rarely blooms the Cypripe-
dium upon its stalk;
And like a torch it shines to me
Adown the dark wood-walk.
O joy to pluck it from the ground,
To view the purple sac,
To touch the sessile stigma's round--
And shall I then turn back?
_Picus Erytbrocephalus_:
O black and shining is the log
That feeds the sumptuous weed,
Nor stone is found nor bedded log
Where foot may well proceed.
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