Page:The Sad Years.djvu/55



HAD loved the pretty birds that by my window sung— The gentle thrush that had his nest the perfumed pines among; The chaffinch with his sudden note, his song so clear and bold; The sad rhyme of the robin, too, that came when winds grew cold;

The happy lark whose benison fell from the sunny sky; The blackbird with his golden lute that serenaded by: The nightingale that through the night told his low rosary; The finches, with their little tunes, were all beloved by me.

I leaned to hear each lovely note through each enchanted day! And thought no minstrelsy so fine, while all content I lay, [47]