Thrushes

The throstle with his note so true,The wren with little quill.

— Thrushes

That's the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over,The first fine careless rapture!

— Thrushes

When rosy plumelets tuft the larch,And rarely pipes the mounted thrush.

— Thrushes

Across the noisy streetSing on, sing on, O thrush!

— Thrushes

O thrush, your song is passing sweet,When my dear love and I were young.

— Thrushes

In the gloamin' o' the woodThe throssil whusslit sweet.

— Thrushes

I said to the brown, brown thrush: Like a sound amid sounds most fine."

— Thrushes

Sing, sweet thrushes, forth and sing! Buds and birds on our trysting-tree?

— Thrushes

Hush!The Hermit Thrush.

— Thrushes

At the corner of Wood Street, when daylight appears,Hangs a thrush that sings loud, it has sung for three years.

— Thrushes

And hark! how blithe the throstle sings! Let Nature be your teacher.

— Thrushes