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by Edward Rowland Sill (1841 - 1887)

The thrush
Language: English 
The thrush sings high on the topmost bough;
Low, louder, low again, and now,
He has changed his tree, you know not how,
For you saw no flitting wing.

All the notes of the forest throng,
Flute, reed, and string, are in his song;
Never a fear knows he, nor wrong,
Nor a doubt of anything.

Small room for care in that soft breast;
All weather that comes is to him the best,
While he sees his mate close on her nest,
And the woods are full of spring.

He has lost his last year's love,
I know, He, too, but 'tis little he keeps of woe,
For a bird forgets in a year,
and so no wonder the thrush can sing. 

Text Authorship:

  • by Edward Rowland Sill (1841 - 1887) [author's text not yet checked against a primary source]

Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive):

  • by Amy Marcy Cheney Beach (1867 - 1944), "The thrush", op. 14 (Four Songs) no. 4 (1890), published 1891 [ treble voice and piano ] [sung text checked 1 time]

Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]

This text was added to the website: 2010-11-01
Line count: 16
Word count: 122

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