WITHIN a thick and spreading hawthorn bush, That overhung a molehill large and round, I heard from morn to morn a merry thrush Sing hymns to sunrise, and I drank the sound With joy, and, often an intruding guest, I watched her secret toils from day to day -- How true she warped the moss, to form a nest, And modelled it within with wood and clay; And by and by, like heath-bells gilt with dew, There lay her shining eggs, as bright as flowers, Ink-spotted-over shells of greeny blue: And there I witnessed in the sunny hours A brood of nature's minstrels chirp and fly, Glad as that sunshine and the laughing sky. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FRAGMENTS INTENDED FOR DEATH'S JEST-BOOK: A SUBTERRANEAN CITY by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES THIRD BOOK OF AIRS: SONG 18. THE CHARM by THOMAS CAMPION A BANJO SONG by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR WILLIE WINKIE by WILLIAM MILLER STEADFASTNESS; THE LOVER BESEECHETH HIS MISTRESS by THOMAS WYATT AN ESSAY TOWARDS A CHARACTER OF HIS SACRED MAJESTY KING JAMES II by PHILIP AYRES AUTUMN; WRITTEN IN THE GROUNDS OF MARTIN COLE, ESQ. by BERNARD BARTON |