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...EPIGRAM: A LAME BEGGAR by JOHN DONNE A HYMN TO CONTENTMENT by THOMAS PARNELL MY SISTER'S SLEEP by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI VERSES DESIGNED TO BE SENT TO MR. ADAMS by ELIZABETH FRANCES AMHERST PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 5. ALLAH-AL-KUDDUS by EDWIN ARNOLD THE FRAILTY OF MAN'S LIFE by PHILIP AYRES CLIO, NINE ECLOGUES IN HONOUR OF NINE VIRTUES: 4. WORTHY MEMORY by WILLIAM BASSE |