How songs are made Is a mystery, Which studied for years Still baffles me. They are the true singers.
Any man can write verses in the love season.
Thoreau does not mention by name any of the poet-birds to which he alludes, but we think our selections for the present month include some of them. The red clover is as sweet to him as to the honey bee, and a pair of them may often be seen hovering over the blossoms for a moment, and then disappearing with the quickness of a flash of light, soon to return to the same spot and repeat the performance. Something of the poet is the Yellow Warbler, though his song is not quite as long as an epic. He repeats it a little too often, perhaps, but there is such a pervading cheerfulness about it that we will not quarrel with the author. His song is appropriate to every season, but it is in the spring when we hear it first, that it is doubly welcome to the ear.