As I went up a woodland walk
In Taunton Dene, when May was green,
I heard a bird so blithely talk,
The trembling sprays between,
That I stood still
With right good will
To know what he might mean.

No yellow horned honey-suckle
Hath e'er distilled the sweets he spilled
In one long dulcet dewy chuckle
That blackbird golden billed;
Ay piping plain,
"Hope, hope again!"
Till my heart's grief was stilled.