Redbirds

by Sara Teasdale

　　

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Redbirds, redbirds, Long and long ago, What a honey-call you had In hills I used to know; Redbud, buckberry, Wild plum-tree And proud river sweeping Southward to the sea, Brown and gold in the sun Sparkling far below, Trailing stately round her bluffs Where the poplars grow. Redbirds, redbirds, Are you singing still As you sang one May day On Saxton's Hill?

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