Sunday, November 4, 2012

The Phoebe´s Nest

never hung upon a thorn. Not perfect yet, it seems, however, for that little feminine eye has seen the need of one more touch. Away she flies, and in a minute more a downy feather, tipped with iridescent green, is adjusted in the cobwebs.

Text by W. H. Morse. Illustration by W. Hamilton Gibson. From the book Pastoral Days or Memories of a New England Year. Chapter Spring. New York, 1881

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