PROJECT ASHABI
African Stories. Limitless Worlds.
PROJECT ASHABI
African Stories. Limitless Worlds.
Project Gutenberg Archive
Complete unabridged public-domain literary work from the Project Gutenberg archive.
Project Ashabi is being built as the home of original African comics, webtoons, graphic novels, and fiction.
This third-party Novel / Book title is temporary preview content. Step by step, third-party titles will be phased out and replaced exclusively by Ashabi Originals created by African writers and artists.
Produced by Patricia Peters, Tonya Allen, and Project Gutenberg Distributed Proofreaders
The Veery The Song-Sparrow The Maryland Yellow-Throat The Whip-Poor-Will Wings of a Dove The Hermit Thrush Sea-Gulls of Manhattan The Ruby-Crowned Kinglet The Angler's Reveille A November Daisy The Lily of Yorrow
If All the Skies The After-Echo Dulciora Matins The Parting and the Coming Guest When Tulips Bloom Spring in the North Spring in the South How Spring Comes to Shasta Jim The First Bird o' Spring A Bunch of Trout-Flies A Noon-Song Turn o' the Tide Sierra Madre School Indian Summer Light between the Trees The Fall of the Leaves Three Alpine Sonnets A Snow-Song Roslin and Hawthornden The Heavenly Hills of Holland Flood-Tide of Flowers Salute to the Trees
The Grand Canyon God of the Open Air
The Distant Road The Welcome Tent The Great Cities The Friendly Trees The Pathway of Rivers The Glory of Ruins The Tribe of the Helpers The Good Teacher The Camp-Fires of My Friend
The moonbeams over Arno's vale in silver flood were pouring, When first I heard the nightingale a long-lost love deploring. So passionate, so full of pain, it sounded strange and eerie; I longed to hear a simpler strain,--the woodnotes of the veery.
The laverock sings a bonny lay above the Scottish heather; It sprinkles down from far away like light and love together; He drops the golden notes to greet his brooding mate, his dearie; I only know one song more sweet,--the vespers of the veery.
In English gardens, green and bright and full of fruity treasure, I heard the blackbird with delight repeat his merry measure: The ballad was a pleasant one, the tune was loud and cheery, And yet, with every setting sun, I listened for the veery.
Arthur Conan Doyle
