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“Apart on loftiest boughs we'll hear them sing,
Pouring their rivalries from dulcet throats,
Sustained in long successive throbbing notes,
Liquid and flashing; while the woodlands ring
With flattered leaves playing choral minstrelsy;

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When many a sidelong ear, a glancing eye
Will scan the singers while they list their lays;
And then, in prompt unhesitating praise,
Fluttering around they all alight anear
For sweet selection of the mates most dear.