Wood Thrush HWBL 03 014

2023-05-16T00:00:00Z

Wood Thrush The shy wood thrush, concealed amid the trees, Pours forth his even-song unto his mate: She, seated on the nest, alone in the late Spring day. With her bright look she, peering, sees His joy. His woodland strains swell on the breeze, And trill, and plead, not a tone abate, In accents sweet; his liquid eyes dilate; The bubbling notes strike tinklingly like keys Together, or, like drops of water, fall; His spotted breast heaves, and sends from his throat Rare native music, lays to her devote, In his clear, flute-like, warbling call:— And from these depths, his green-leaved habitude, It ceases.—then the twilight solitude. (p. 363) Huston, Paul Griswold. "The Wood Thrush: A Sonnet." Around an Old Homestead . Jennings and Graham, 1906. https://archive.org/details/gri_33125001396486/mode/2up