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Poem	Within a thick and spreading hawthorn bush That overhung a molehill large and round, I heard from morn to morn a merry thrush Sing hymns to sunrise, and I drank the sound With joy; and often, an intruding guest, I watched her secret toil from day to day— How true she warped the moss to form a nest, And modelled it within with wood and clay; And by and by, like heath-bells gilt with dew, There lay her shining eggs, as bright as flowers, Ink-spotted over shells of greeny blue; And there I witnessed, in the sunny hours, A brood of nature's minstrels chirp and fly, Glad as the sunshine and the laughing sky.
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