I once spent a summer day at the mountain home of a well-known
literary woman and editor. She lamented the absence of birds
about her house. I named a half-dozen or more I had heard in
her trees within an hour--the indigo-bird, the purple finch,
the yellow-bird, the veery thrush, the red-eyed vireo, the song
sparrow.
“Do you mean to say you have seen or heard all these birds while
sitting here on my porch?” she inquired.
“I really have,” I said.
“I do not see them or hear them,” she said, “and yet I want to
very much.”
“No,” said I; “you only want to want to see and hear them.”
You must have the bird in your heart before you can find it in
the bush. (Text.)--JOHN BURROUGHS, “Leaf and Tendril.”
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