When I turned homeward from Long Island and tramped along open roads thru May dusk, the VESPER SPARROWS sang the benediction. Their sweet descending scale gave a singular peace to quiet fields. As one minstrel was left, another ahead took up the refrain. Sometimes one threw himself aloft and burst into an incoherent spasm of notes totally different from the evensong. "Nothing can bring back the hour" is not quite true: there are moments when a stray song enmeshes those old days.
Southern Canada and eastern United States. South in Winter to Gulf coast.