NPM: The Mockingbird and Mr. Frost

Mimus polyglottos

This week's episode of A Prairie Home Companion (my soft spot for Garrison Keillor is fairly well documented) was in especially fine form, particularly the musical numbers. It's five days later and I still can't get the Anonymous 4's rendition of  "Listen to the Mockingbird" out of my head. (I would link directly to it I could, but you'll have to do some scrolling and clicking here to hear it.)

Today we have the lyrics to that antebellum American classic (I'm hoping that by sharing it I can dislodge it from my inner ear), as well as a Robert Frost poem about birdsong. Variations on a theme, you see! (The Frost poem brings to my mind Madeline L'Engle's poem about the parrot, though the logic and tenor are quite different.)


Listen to the Mockingbird
Septimus Winner (1827 – 1902)

Last night I dreamed of my Hallie
Of my Hallie, my sweet Hallie
Last night I dreamed of my Hallie
For the thought of her is one that never dies

She's sleeping now in the valley
In the valley, my sweet Hallie
She's sleeping now in the valley
And the mockingbird is singing where she lies

Listen to the mockingbird, listen to the mockingbird
The mockingbird still singing oe'er her grave
Listen to the mockingbird, listen to the mockingbird
Still singing where the weeping willows wave

Ah well I yet remember
Remember, remember
Ah well I yet remember
When we gathered in the cotton side by side

'Twas in the mild September
September, September
'Twas in the mild September
And the mockingbird was singing far and wide

Listen to the mockingbird, listen to the mockingbird
The mockingbird still singing oe'er her grave
Listen to the mockingbird, listen to the mockingbird
Still singing where the weeping willows wave

When charms of spring awaken
Awaken, awaken
When charms of spring awaken
And the mockingbird is singing on the bough
 
I feel like one forsaken
Forsaken, forsaken
I feel like one forsaken
Since my Hallie is no longer with me now 

Listen to the mockingbird, listen to the mockingbird
The Mockingbird still singing oe'er her grave
Listen to the mockingbird, listen to the mockingbird
Still singing where the weeping willows wave


Never Again Would Bird's Song Be the Same
Robert Frost (1874 – 1963)

He would declare and could himself believe
That the birds there in all the garden round
From having heard the daylong voice of Eve
Had added to their own an oversound,
Her tone of meaning but without the words.
Admittedly an eloquence so soft
Could only have had an influence on birds
When call or laughter carried it aloft.
Be that as may be, she was in their song.
Moreover her voice upon their voices crossed
Had now persisted in the woods so long
That probably it never would be lost.
Never again would birds' song be the same.
And to do that to birds was why she came.