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    Songs out of Doors
    Songs out of Doors
    Songs out of Doors
    Ebook141 pages55 minutes

    Songs out of Doors

    By Henry Van Dyke

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    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherArchive Classics
    Release dateNov 27, 2013
    Songs out of Doors
    Author

    Henry Van Dyke

    Henry Van Dyke (1928–2011) was born in Allegan, Michigan, and grew up in Montgomery, Alabama, where his parents were professors at Alabama State College. He served in the Army in occupied Germany, playing flute in the 427th Marching Band. There he abandoned his early ambition to become a concert pianist and began to write. In 1958, after attending the University of Michigan on the G.I. Bill and living in Ann Arbor, he moved to New York, where he spent the rest of his life. Henry taught creative writing part-time at Kent State University from 1969 until his retirement in 1993, and was the author of four novels, including Blood of Strawberries, a sequel to Ladies of the Rachmaninoff Eyes.

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      Book preview

      Songs out of Doors - Henry Van Dyke

      The Project Gutenberg EBook of Songs Out of Doors, by Henry Van Dyke

      This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org

      Title: Songs Out of Doors

      Author: Henry Van Dyke

      Posting Date: August 31, 2012 [EBook #9372] Release Date: November, 2005 First Posted: September 26, 2003

      Language: English

      *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SONGS OUT OF DOORS ***

      Produced by Patricia Peters, Tonya Allen, and Project Gutenberg Distributed Proofreaders

      SONGS OUT OF DOORS

      BY

      HENRY VAN DYKE

      1923

      CONTENTS

      I

      OF BIRDS AND FLOWERS

        The Veery

        The Song-Sparrow

        The Maryland Yellow-Throat

        The Whip-Poor-Will

        Wings of a Dove

        The Hermit Thrush

        Sea-Gulls of Manhattan

        The Ruby-Crowned Kinglet

        The Angler's Reveille

        A November Daisy

        The Lily of Yorrow

      II

      OF SKIES AND SEASONS

        If All the Skies

        The After-Echo

        Dulciora

        Matins

        The Parting and the Coming Guest

        When Tulips Bloom

        Spring in the North

        Spring in the South

        How Spring Comes to Shasta Jim

        The First Bird o' Spring

        A Bunch of Trout-Flies

        A Noon-Song

        Turn o' the Tide

        Sierra Madre

        School

        Indian Summer

        Light between the Trees

        The Fall of the Leaves

        Three Alpine Sonnets

        A Snow-Song

        Roslin and Hawthornden

        The Heavenly Hills of Holland

        Flood-Tide of Flowers

        Salute to the Trees

      III

      OF THE UNFAILING LIGHT

        The Grand Canyon

        God of the Open Air

      IV

      WAYFARING PSALMS IN PALESTINE

        The Distant Road

        The Welcome Tent

        The Great Cities

        The Friendly Trees

        The Pathway of Rivers

        The Glory of Ruins

        The Tribe of the Helpers

        The Good Teacher

        The Camp-Fires of My Friend

      I

      OF BIRDS AND FLOWERS

      THE VEERY

        The moonbeams over Arno's vale in silver flood were pouring,

        When first I heard the nightingale a long-lost love deploring.

        So passionate, so full of pain, it sounded strange and eerie;

        I longed to hear a simpler strain,—the woodnotes of the veery.

        The laverock sings a bonny lay above the Scottish heather;

        It sprinkles down from far away like light and love together;

        He drops the golden notes to greet his brooding mate, his dearie;

        I only know one song more sweet,—the vespers of the veery.

        In English gardens, green and bright and full of fruity treasure,

        I heard the blackbird with delight repeat his merry measure:

        The ballad was a pleasant one, the tune was loud and cheery,

        And yet, with every setting sun, I listened for the veery.

        But far away, and far away, the tawny thrush is singing;

        New England woods, at close of day, with that clear chant are ringing:

        And when my light of life is low, and heart and flesh are weary,

        I fain would hear, before I go, the wood-notes of the veery.

      1895.

      THE SONG-SPARROW

        There is a bird I know so well,

          It seems as if he must have sung

          Beside my crib when I was young;

        Before I knew the way to spell

          The name of even the smallest bird,

          His gentle-joyful song I heard.

        Now see if you can tell, my dear,

        What bird it is that, every year,

        Sings Sweet—sweet—sweet—very merry cheer.

        He comes in March, when winds are strong,

          And snow returns to hide the earth;

          But still he warms his heart with mirth,

        And waits for May. He lingers long

          While flowers fade; and every day

          Repeats his small, contented lay;

        As if to say, we need not fear

        The season's change, if love is here

        With Sweet—sweet—sweet—very merry cheer.

        He does not wear a Joseph's-coat

          Of many colours, smart and gay;

          His suit is Quaker brown and gray,

        With darker patches at his throat.

          And yet of all the well-dressed throng

          Not one can sing so brave a song.

        It makes the pride of looks appear

        A vain and foolish thing, to hear

        His Sweet—sweet—sweet—very merry cheer.

        A lofty place he does not love,

          But sits by choice, and well at ease,

          In hedges, and in little trees

        That stretch their slender arms above

          The meadow-brook; and there he sings

          Till all the field with pleasure rings;

        And so he tells in every ear,

        That lowly homes to heaven are near

        In Sweet—sweet—sweet—very merry cheer.

        I like the tune, I like the words;

          They seem so true, so free from art,

          So friendly, and so full of heart,

        That if but one of all the birds

          Could be my comrade everywhere,

          My little brother of the air,

        I'd choose the song-sparrow, my dear,

        Because he'd bless me, every year,

        With Sweet—sweet—sweet—very merry cheer.

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