Lines
Suggested by the Singing of a Bird Early in March, 1868.
Sing on, sweet feathered warbler, sing!Mount higher on thy joyous wing,And let thy morning anthem ringFull on my ear;Thou art the only sign of springI see or hear.
The earth is buried deep in snow;The muffled streams refuse to flow,The rattling mill can scarcely go,For ice and frost:The beauty of the vale belowIn death is lost.
Save thine, no note of joy is heard—Thy kindred...
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