 | Poems at Home and Abroad |  |
73
‘Ubi Aves ibi Angeli’
Untired of will, with tireless tongue
From morn to latest eve has sung,
The thrush who, all through May and June,
Has kept my garden-close in tune.
There is no separate tree or flower
But owns her harmonizing power,
And feels to-day in every part
As if it had a brother's heart.
From morn to latest eve has sung,
The thrush who, all through May and June,
Has kept my garden-close in tune.
There is no separate tree or flower
But owns her harmonizing power,
And feels to-day in every part
As if it had a brother's heart.
The crake is silent in the vale,
The cuckoos cease their wandering tale;
But, still, as if it felt each morn
Some newer call for thanks was born,
This angel in the lilac-bush,
Impatient of a moment's hush,
Gives unto whom no voice is given
The note of praise that sounds in Heaven.
The cuckoos cease their wandering tale;
But, still, as if it felt each morn
Some newer call for thanks was born,
This angel in the lilac-bush,
Impatient of a moment's hush,
Gives unto whom no voice is given
The note of praise that sounds in Heaven.
| Poems at Home and Abroad | |