Author Dorothy Wordsworth It is a blessed place. We stayed till the light of day Was going, And the little birds Began to settle their singing. But there was a thrush That seemed to sing louder And clearer Than the thrushes had sung When it was quite day. Rate this poem Select ratingGive it 1/5Give it 2/5Give it 3/5Give it 4/5Give it 5/5 No votes yet Rate Log in or register to post comments