The Thrush 



By Stanley Hubbard 



Sweetly, thou silver-throated thru>^h. 



Fashion a song for me. 

 Out of the western air nf balm. 



Sing from the birchen tree. 



The gray hawk roams the under sky : 



Fear no shadowing wing. 

 The winds shall tell us of his flight: 



Leap to the light and sing. 



The twig scarce bends jjcneath thy weight- 

 Now is thy strain divine. 



Joys embalmed of a thousand' s])rings 

 Flow from that heart of thine. 



Thy bosom swells with budding notes : 

 Let them blossom and throng 



Till earth and sky and sea are naught, 

 X'anishcd into thy song. 



And now the e\e, for day hath closed 



Westward her golden door. 

 And thou shalt dream of thy still mate 



Guarding the lledglings four. 



For winds breathe low, and from the ca>^t 



Shadows of night are seni 

 To give thee and thy dear ones sleep 

 While faithful stars draw night anrl peep 



Lender the purple tent. 



161 



