It sprinkles down from far away like light and love together;

He drops the golden notes to greet his brooding mate, his dearie;

I only know one song more sweet,—the vespers of the veery.

 In English gardens, green and bright and full of fruity treasure, I heard the blackbird with delight repeat his merry measure: The ballad was a pleasant one, the tune was loud and cheery, And yet, with every setting sun, I listened for the veery.

In English gardens, green and bright and full of fruity treasure,

I heard the blackbird with delight repeat his merry measure:

The ballad was a pleasant one, the tune was loud and cheery,

And yet, with every setting sun, I listened for the veery.

  But far away, and far away, the tawny thrush is singing; New England woods, at close of day, with that clear chant are ringing: And when my light of life is low, and heart and flesh are weary, I fain would hear, before I go, the wood-notes of the veery.

But far away, and far away, the tawny thrush is singing;

New England woods, at close of day, with that clear chant are ringing:

And when my light of life is low, and heart and flesh are weary,

I fain would hear, before I go, the wood-notes of the veery.

1895.

 THE SONG-SPARROW

 There is a bird I know so well, It seems as if he must have sung Beside my crib when I was young; Before I knew the way to spell The name of even the smallest bird, His gentle-joyful song I heard. Now see if you can tell, my dear. What bird it is that, every year, Sings “Sweet—sweet—sweet—very merry cheer.”

There is a bird I know so well,

It seems as if he must have sung

Beside my crib when I was young;

Before I knew the way to spell

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