THE BLACKBIRD 159 



There ! where the flutter of his wings 

 Upon his back and body flings 

 Shadows and sunny glimmerings, 

 That cover him all over. 



My dazzled sight he oft deceives 

 A brother of the dancing leaves ; 

 Then flits, and from the cottage -eaves 

 Pours forth his song in gushes ; 

 As if by that exulting strain 

 He mock'd and treated with disdain 

 The voiceless Form he chose to feign, 

 While fluttering in the bushes. 



WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. 



THE BLACKBIRD 



O BLACKBIRD ! sing me something well : 



While all the neighbours shoot thee round, 

 I keep smooth plats of fruitful ground, 



Where thou may'st warble, eat and dwell. 



The espaliers and the standards all 



Are thine ; the range of lawn and park : 

 The unnetted black-hearts ripen dark, 



All thine, against the garden wall. 



Yet, tho' I spared thee all the spring, 

 Thy sole delight is, sitting still, 

 With that gold dagger of thy bill 



To fret the summer jenneting. 



