A Lament for Poets; 2016

The poor old woman lifted up her voice again,

“The fowler had taken all the blackbirds away—

“They all were gone, and I knew not to where.

“I looked for them; truly I did.


“There was one I saw several decades ago

“But he had flown far away; the Skylarks

“Such pretty voice, yet also very common,

“Now warble their tunes from time to time—


“But, as I had sung about the blackbirds—

“Not the Jacobites,—When my crown was lost,

“There had recently appeared at my door

“A thrush, who though not as pretty a song as the skylark


“Had the dignity and pearly sheen of feathers I like.

“My heart was refreshed by seeing him,

“Though I had wished I would see more,”

Said the poor old woman, knitting upon the hills.


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