DOWN Wessex way, when spring's a-shine, The blackbird's 'pret-ty de-urr!' In Wessex accents marked as mine Is heard afar and near. He flutes it strong, as if in song No R's of feebler tone Than his appear in 'pretty dear', Have blackbirds ever known. Yet they pipe 'prattie deerh!' I glean, Beneath a Scottish sky, And 'pehty de-aw!' amid the treen Of Middlesex or nigh. While some folk say - perhaps in play - Who know the Irish isle, 'Tis 'purrity dare!' in treeland there When songsters would beguile. Well: I'll say what the listening birds Say, hearing 'pret-ty de-urr!' - However strangers sound such words, That's how we sound them here. Yes, in this clime at pairing time, As soon as eyes can see her At dawn of day, the proper way To call is 'pret-ty de-urr!' | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...OH! WEEP FOR THOSE by GEORGE GORDON BYRON EPITAPHS OF THE WAR, 1914-18: CONVOY ESCORT by RUDYARD KIPLING PRESIDENT LINCOLN'S BURIAL HYMN by WALT WHITMAN MUSIC; AND THE SAVAGE BREAST by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS |