“O JAY!”

O jay —

Blue-jay!

What are you trying to say?

I remember, in the spring

You pretended you could sing;

But your voice is now still queerer,

And as yet you've come no nearer

To a song.

In fact, to sum the matter,

I never heard a flatter

Failure than your doleful clatter.

Do n't you think it's wrong?

It was sweet to hear your note,

I'll not deny,

When April set pale clouds afloat

O'er the blue tides of sky,

And‘ mid the wind's triumphant drums

You, in your white and azure coat,

A herald proud, came forth to cry,

“The royal summer comes!”

But now that autumn's here,

And the leaves curl up in sheer

Disgust,

And the cold rains fringe the pine,

You really must

Stop that supercilious whine — -

Or you'll be shot, by some mephitic

Angry critic.

You do n't fulfill your early promise:

You're not the smartest

Kind of artist,

Any more than poor Blind Tom is.

Yet somehow, still,

There's meaning in your screaming bill.

What are you trying to say?

Sometimes your piping is delicious,

And then again it's simply vicious;

Though on the whole the varying jangle

Weaves round me an entrancing tangle

Of memories grave or joyous:

Things to weep or laugh at;

Love that lived at a hint, or

Days so sweet, they'd cloy us;

Nights I have spent with friends;—

Glistening groves of winter,

And the sound of vanished feet

That walked by the ripening wheat;

With other things.... Not the half that

Your cry familiar blends

Can I name, for it is mostly

Very ghostly;—

Such mixed-up things your voice recalls,

With its peculiar quirks and falls.

Possibly, then, your meaning, plain,

Is that your harsh and broken strain

Tallies best with a world of pain.

Well, I'll admit

There's merit in a voice that's truthful:

Yours is not honey-sweet nor youthful,

But querulously fit.

And if we cannot sing, we'll say

Something to the purpose, jay!