There's a sonsr on the warm wind to-dny, It is wafteü irom over the wny Di'iftiti'ï out on the air It is bourne everywhere, ■ Now listen to what it shall suy. There it comes solt and light, "Bob White. Bob White," Through the soft, droainy light. Echo answers afar it's 'Bob White, Bob White.' Como this way, dearest bird of my love, Plurep anl fair, and wild-eyed as the dove, Through October's soft haze BrinKriffain back the days When we lovcd free as air then to rove, When through soft, dreamy light, Weanswered, "BobWhiK." Hark, afar now the song of Bob White, And the eohoes are answering, "Bob White. Bob White." How we foliowed in many a mood, Through the meadows and deep tangled wood. And when we drew nigh, Whirring off you would fly, And yet, we aeknowledged thee good. Far out o'er the plain Comes the song of "more rain," And we answer the warning. "more rain, more rain." Never bird sang more sweetly to me, Many hued though its bright wing might be. We to-day neath the trees. Hear the rustle of leaves. And the quail whistling over the lea. List, afar through the oft, dreamy light. "Bob White, Bob White," Through the soft, dreamy light. Echóos answers so sweetly, "Bob White, Bob White."