158 THE SINGING OF BIRDS 



THE GREEN LINNET 



BENEATH these fruit-tree boughs that shed 

 Their snow-white blossoms on my head, 

 With brightest sunshine round me spread 

 Of Spring's unclouded weather, 

 In this sequester'd nook how sweet 

 To sit upon my orchard-seat ! 

 And flowers and birds once more to greet, 

 My last year's friends together. 



One have I mark'd, the happiest guest 

 In all this covert of the blest : 

 Hail to Thee, far above the rest 

 In joy of voice and pinion ! 

 Thou, Linnet ! in thy green array 

 Presiding Spirit here to-day, 

 Dost lead the revels of the May ; 

 And this is thy dominion. 



While birds, and butterflies, and flowers 

 Make all one band of paramours, 

 Thou, ranging up and down the bowers, 

 Art sole in thy employment ; 

 A Life, a Presence like the Air, 

 Scattering thy gladness without care, 

 Too blest with any one to pair ; 

 Thyself thy own enjoyment. 



Amid yon tuft of hazel-trees 

 That twinkle to the gusty breeze, 

 Behold him perched in ecstasies , 

 Yet seeming still to hover ; 



