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Ontario Readers Third Book, The

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<h2>"BOB WHITE"</h2> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> I see you, on the zigzag rails, You cheery little fellow! While purple leaves are whirling down, And scarlet, brown, and yellow. I hear you when the air is full Of snow-down of the thistle; All in your speckled jacket trim, "Bob White! Bob White!" you whistle. </div> <div class="stanza"> Tall amber sheaves, in rustling rows, Are nodding there to greet you; I know that you are out for play— How I should like to meet you! Though blithe of voice, so shy you are, In this delightful weather; What splendid playmates, you and I, "Bob White," would make together! </div> <div class="stanza"> There, you are gone! but far away I hear your whistle falling. Ah! maybe it is hide-and-seek, And that's why you are calling. Along those hazy uplands wide We'd be such merry rangers; What! silent now, and hidden too! "Bob White," don't let's be strangers. </div> <div class="stanza"> Perhaps you teach your brood the game, In yonder rainbowed thicket, While winds are playing with the leaves, And softly creeks the cricket. "Bob White! Bob White!"—again I hear That blithely whistled chorus; Why should we not companions be? One Father watches o'er us! </div> </div> George Cooper <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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