White-throated Sparrows have a very recognizable spring song which I learned as “Dear, sweet Canada, Canada, Canada.” Quebeckers hear it as “Mon cher Fréderic, Fréderic, Fréderic.” New Englanders hear it as “It’s Sam Peabody, Peabody, Peabody.”
There are many white-throats about these days as they head south. We had this one at Humber Bay.
In spring the colours are much more vivid.
The beech is dipped in wine; the shower
Is burnished; on the swinging flower
The latest bee doth sit.
The low sun stares through dust of gold.
And o’er the darkened heath and wold
The large ghost-moth doth flit.
In every orchard Autumn stands,
With apples in his golden hands. – Alexander Smith, Scottish poet (1829–67)