flâneur

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's Birds of Killingworth - The Atlantic

theatlantic.com · 1,831 words · saved by 1 readers

In The Atlantic’s January/February 2024 special issue, 24 writers imagine what a second Trump term would look like. A poem It was the season when through all the land The merle and mavis build, and building sing Those lovely lyrics written by His hand Whom Saxon Caedmon calls the Blithe-Heart King, — When on the boughs the purple buds expand, The banners of the vanguard of the Spring, And rivulets, rejoicing, rush and leap, And wave their fluttering signals from the steep. The robin and the bluebird, piping loud, Filled all the blossoming orchards with their glee; The sparrows chirped as if they still were proud Their race in Holy Writ should mentioned be; And hungry crows, assembled in a crowd, Clamored their piteous prayer incessantly, Knowing who hears the ravens cry, and said, “Give us, O Lord, this day our daily bread!” Across the Sound the birds of passage sailed, Speaking some unknown language strange and sweet Of tropic isle remote, and passing hailed The village with the cheer

It was the season when through all the land The merle and mavis build, and building sing Those lovely lyrics written by His hand Whom Saxon Caedmon calls the Blithe-Heart King, — When on the boughs the purple buds expand, The banners of the vanguard of the Spring, And rivulets, rejoicing, rush and leap, And wave their fluttering signals from the steep. The robin and the bluebird, piping loud, Filled all the blossoming orchards with their glee; The sparrows chirped as if they still were proud Their race in Holy Writ should mentioned be; And hungry crows, assembled in a crowd, Clamored their pit

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