Classic Poem

Bob — Bob White!
The joyous call falls like a silver chime;
And back across the fields of summer-time,
The echo, faint but sweetly clear,
Falls dying on the list'ning ear —
Bob — Bob White!
And when the cheery voice is dead,
And silence woos the wind to rest
Among the oak boughs overhead,
From valley, hill, or meadow's breast,
There comes an answ'ring call —
Bob — Bob White!

And, once more, over all,
The golden Silence weaves her spell,
And light and shadow play
At hide-and-seek behind the high
Blue walls around the day.

A speck of brown adown the dusty pathway runneth he,
Then whirreth, like a missile shot, into a neighb'ring tree.
Again, from where the wood and prairie meet;
Across the tasseled corn and waving wheat,
Awak'ning many tender mem'ries sweet —
Bob — Bob White!
Bob — Bob White!
The joyous call falls like a silver chime;
And back across the fields of summer-time,
The echo, faint but sweetly clear,
Falls dying on the list'ning ear —
Bob — Bob White!

And when the cheery voice is dead,
And silence woos the wind to rest
Among the oak boughs overhead,
From valley, hill, or meadow's breast,
There comes an answ'ring call —
Bob — Bob White!

And, once more, over all,
The golden Silence weaves her spell,
And light and shadow play
At hide-and-seek behind the high
Blue walls around the day.

A speck of brown adown the dusty pathway runneth he,
Then whirreth, like a missile shot, into a neighb'ring tree.
Again, from where the wood and prairie meet,
Across the tasseled corn and waving wheat,
Awak'ning many tender mem'ries sweet —
Bob — Bob White!