 | Sonnets in Switzerland and Italy |  |
99
THE WENGEN THRUSH
He never quite forgets that liquid lay
Who hears the warbler in the Stanstadt reeds,
Yet if when squirrels drop their whispering seeds
And spruce-tufts cast their yellow hoods away
Through Wengen woods the traveller chance to stray,
Thenceforth all other song he little heeds—
He feels himself borne back to English meads
And dreams of bluebell woods and wreaths of May.
Who hears the warbler in the Stanstadt reeds,
Yet if when squirrels drop their whispering seeds
And spruce-tufts cast their yellow hoods away
Through Wengen woods the traveller chance to stray,
Thenceforth all other song he little heeds—
He feels himself borne back to English meads
And dreams of bluebell woods and wreaths of May.
For here with indefatigable voice
The speckled bird makes merry in the bush,
And carols forth so lustily and strong
You might believe each thing that would rejoice—
Tree, flower, sun, air—had bade the happy thrush
To be its minister of soul and song.
The speckled bird makes merry in the bush,
And carols forth so lustily and strong
You might believe each thing that would rejoice—
Tree, flower, sun, air—had bade the happy thrush
To be its minister of soul and song.
| Sonnets in Switzerland and Italy | |