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BIRD MUSIC.
  Singer of priceless melody,
   Unguerdoned chorister of air,
  Who from the lithe top of the tree
   Pourest at will thy music rare,
As if a sudden brook laughed down the hill-side there.

  The purple-blossomed fields of grass,
   Waved sea-like to the idle wind,
  Thick daisies that the stars surpass,
   Being as fair and far more kind;—
All sweet uncultured things thy wild notes bring to mind.

  When that enraptured overflow
   Of singing into silence dies,
  Thy rapid fleeting pinions show
   Where all thy spell of sweetness lies
Gathered in one small nest from the wide earth and skies.