When lilacs stand in purple, and the plum-trees blossom forth,
Comes here a lilting, gay, and gaudy troop,
Tits, thrushes, bobolinks, blue-jays with noisy whoop,
Kingbirds, wild tumblers in the air, drunk with ethereal wines;
Then cardinals, and indigoes, and finches find the place,
And so the town-site in the trees grows populous apace.
One waiting for the apple-blooms is he who’s always late,
The oriole: his building-site none e’er disputes with him.
Though last to come he has full leave to settle, with his mate,
And hang his hammock up to rock and swing,
To flout the town on breezy, orange wing
From where his house sways airily adown a pendant limb.
And now the high, green tree-top town, which welcomes ev’ry comer,
Has settled to the business of singing out the summer.
– Austin Arnold McCausland.