Good bye August

Whose wavy flight and cheery whistle

Adorn the wastes o'ergrown with thistle;

No field so foul with noisome weeds

But there the dainty goldfinch feeds,

And greets with song the fervent rays

That flood high noon of August days.

 The Goldfinch. — Charles C. Abbott.

THE HUMMING-BIRD

Is it a monster bee,

Or is it a midget bird, Or yet an air-born mystery

That now yon marigold has stirred,

And now on vocal wing

To a neighbor bloom is whirred,

In an aery ecstasy, in a passion of pilfering?

Ah ! 'tis the humming-bird,

Rich-coated one,

Ruby-throated one,

That is not chosen for song,

But throws its whole rapt sprite

Into the secrets of flowers

The summer days along,

Into most odorous hours, Into a murmurous sound of wings too swift for sight!

Richard Burton.