Lord Alfred Tennyson

O Blackbird! sing me something well:
While all the neighbors shoot thee round,
I keep smooth plats read more

O Blackbird! sing me something well:
While all the neighbors shoot thee round,
I keep smooth plats of fruitful ground,
Where thou may'st warble, eat and dwell.

The wild swan's death-hymn took the soul
Of that waste place with joy
Hidden in sorrow: at read more

The wild swan's death-hymn took the soul
Of that waste place with joy
Hidden in sorrow: at first to the ear
The warble was low, and full and clear.

In that fierce light which beats upon a throne.

In that fierce light which beats upon a throne.

And grasps the skirts of happy chance,
And breasts the blows of circumstance.

And grasps the skirts of happy chance,
And breasts the blows of circumstance.

Then she rode forth, clothed on with chastity:
The deep air listen'd round her as she rode,
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Then she rode forth, clothed on with chastity:
The deep air listen'd round her as she rode,
And all the low wind hardly breathed for fear.