Читать книгу Modern British Poetry - Various - Страница 24

THE BLACKBIRD

The nightingale has a lyre of gold,

The lark's is a clarion call,

And the blackbird plays but a boxwood flute,

But I love him best of all.

For his song is all of the joy of life,

And we in the mad, spring weather,

We two have listened till he sang

Our hearts and lips together.