Classic Poem

While sang the lark above the lea,
Or thrush by neshleav'd bush or tree,
In early day, or afternoon,
We often heard the merry tune
Of your gay song from orchard shades
Or bough-hemm'd lanes, or grassy glades,
But hardly ever found you trill
A song at night, when birds were still.

The way the merry sound came by
Betoken'd, what I fain would spy,
Your steps behind some half-brown'd rick,
Or flow'ry hedge, too high and thick,
Or where below the clear blue sky
The snow-white linen hung to dry,
But where you would not go to fill
The shade with sound when birds were still.

When darkness dimm'd the hues of day,
And we went lonely on the way
Without the day's high noises near,
We there, upon the road, could hear
Beside the grey old bars the sound
Of barley rustling o'er the ground,
But never found your warbling come
Upon the wind, when birds were dumb.

When clouds bedimm'd the welkin's blue,
And night came on without its dew,
And winter wind had stripp'd the trees,
And crackling roads began to freeze,
And ground erst warm with summer heat
Was whiten'd o'er with happ'ring sleet,
You sang where I would fain have heard
You, still at home, while sang no bird.