The Thrush

A thrush calls sweetly from the bough, With melody on lighted wing, He weaves a serenade, a vow, His song is Nature’s joyful spring.

From leafy branches, clear and bright, He pours a rapture on the air, Awakening the world to light, His love’s song drowns all care.

O bird, your heart is full of mirth, In every note your soul takes flight, A glimpse of Heaven found on Earth, In every dawn, your pure delight.

• Charles Lamb

• Charles Lamb