BIRDS IN SPRING. He was in coming forth, that should the thickets thrill; As nature had him markt of purpose, t' let us see That from all other birds his tunes should different be; In such lamenting strains the joyful hours doth ply, They else, alone to hear that charmer of the night, (The more to use their ears,) their voices sure would spare, That moduleth her tunes so admirably rare, As man to set in parts at first had learn'd of her. To Philomel the next, the linnet we prefer ; And by that warbling bird, the wood-lark place we then, The laughing hecco, then the counterfeiting jay, The softer with the shrill (some hid among the leaves, SWEET day! So cool, so calm, so bright, The dews shall weep thy fall to-night; Sweet rose! whose hue, angry and brave, Thy root is ever in its grave; And thou must die. Sweet spring! full of sweet days and roses Only a sweet and virtuous soul, Like season'd timber never gives; But, though the whole world turn to coal, Then chiefly lives. GEORGE HERBERT. |