The Starlings

By Charles Kingsley

Early in spring time, on raw and windy mornings,

Beneath the freezing house-eaves I heard the starlings sing—

'Ah dreary March month, is this then a time for building wearily?

Sad, sad, to think that the year is but begun.'

Late in the autumn, on still and cloudless evenings,

Among the golden reed-beds I heard the starlings sing—

'Ah that sweet March month, when we and our mates were courting merrily;

Sad, sad, to think that the year is all but done.'

Eversley, 1848.