Sing, sweet thrushes, forth and sing!
Meet the moon upon the lea;
Are the emeralds of the read more

Sing, sweet thrushes, forth and sing!
Meet the moon upon the lea;
Are the emeralds of the spring
On the angler's trysting-tree?
Tell, sweet thrushes, tell to me,
Are there buds on our willow-tree?
Buds and birds on our trysting tree?

O thrush, your song is passing sweet,
But never a song that you have sung
Is half read more

O thrush, your song is passing sweet,
But never a song that you have sung
Is half so sweet as thrushes sang
When my dear love and I were young.

When rosy plumelets tuft the larch,
And rarely pipes the mounted thrush.

When rosy plumelets tuft the larch,
And rarely pipes the mounted thrush.

Across the noisy street
I hear him careless throw
One warning utterance sweet;
Then read more

Across the noisy street
I hear him careless throw
One warning utterance sweet;
Then faint at first, and low,
The full notes closer grow;
Hard, what a torrent gush!
They pour, they overflow--
Sing on, sing on, O thrush!

In the gloamin' o' the wood
The throssil whusslit sweet.

In the gloamin' o' the wood
The throssil whusslit sweet.

Hush!
With sudden gush
As from a fountain sings in yonder bush
The Hermit read more

Hush!
With sudden gush
As from a fountain sings in yonder bush
The Hermit Thrush.

And hark! how blithe the throstle sings!
He, too, is no mean preacher:
Come forth into the read more

And hark! how blithe the throstle sings!
He, too, is no mean preacher:
Come forth into the light of things,
Let Nature be your teacher.

At the corner of Wood Street, when daylight appears,
Hangs a thrush that sings loud, it has sung for read more

At the corner of Wood Street, when daylight appears,
Hangs a thrush that sings loud, it has sung for three years.