XI

What doth the blackbird in the boughs

Sing all day to his nested spouse?

What but the song of his old Mother-Earth,

In her mighty humour of lust and mirth?

‘ Love and God's will go wing and wing,

And as for death, is there any such thing?’ —

In the shadow of death,

So, at the beck of the wizard Spring

The dear bird saith —

So the bird saith!

Caught with us all in the nets of fate,

So the sweet wretch sings early and late;

And, O my fairest, after all,

The heart of the World's in his innocent call.

The will of the World's with him wing and wing:—

‘ Life — life — life!‘ Tis the sole great thing

This side of death,

Heart on heart in the wonder of Spring!’

So the bird saith —

The wise bird saith!