The Music-Lesson

A thrush alit on a young-leaved spray, And, lightly clinging, It rocked in its singing As the rapturous notes rose loud and gay; And with liquid shakes, And trills and breaks, Rippled though blossoming bough of May. Like a ball of fluff, with a warm brown throat And throbbing bosom, 'Mid the apple-blossom, The new-fledged nestling sat learning by rote To echo the song So tender and strong, As it feebly put in its frail little note. O blissfullest lesson amid the green grove! The low wind crispeth The leaves, where lispeth The shy little bird with its parent above; Two voices that mingle And make but a single Hymn of rejoicing in praise of their love.