the thrush - elizabeth maconchy lyrics
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o thou whose face hath felt the winter’s wind
whose eye has seen the snow*clouds hung in mist
and the black elm tops ‘mong the freezing stars!
to thee the spring will be a harvest time
o thou whose only book has been the light
of supreme darkness, which thou feddest on
night after night, when phoebus was away!
to thee the spring shall be a triple morn
o fret not after knowledge. i have none
and yet my song comes native with the warmth
o fret not after knowledge! i have none
and yet the evening listens. he who saddens
at thought of idleness cannot be idle
and he’s awake who thinks himself asleep
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