Quail and Thrush
The quail's staccato call from out the wood
Comes clear unto mine ear;
But in the thrush's note is mistihood,—
You seem you hear
His message only with the brooding mind,
Blent in with memories, borne on last year's wind.
Comes clear unto mine ear;
But in the thrush's note is mistihood,—
You seem you hear
His message only with the brooding mind,
Blent in with memories, borne on last year's wind.
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