The glory of the beauty of the morning, - The cuckoo crying over the untouched dew; The blackbird that has found it, and the dove That...

The cherry trees bend over and are shedding On the old road where all that are passed are dead, Their petals, strewing the grass as for a...

Here again (she said) is March the third And twelve hours' singing for the bird 'Twixt dawn and dusk, from half-past six To half-past...