What doth the blackbird in the boughs
Sing all day to his nested spouse?
What but the song of his old Mother-Earth,
In her mighty humour of lust and mirth?
'Love and God's will go wing and wing,
And as for death, is there any such thing?'—
In the shadow of death,
So, at the beck of the wizard Spring
The dear bird saith—
So the bird saith!
Caught with us all in the nets of fate,
So the sweet wretch sings early and late;
And, O my fairest, after all,
The heart of the World's in his innocent call.
The will of the World's with him wing and wing:—
'Life—life—life! 'Tis the sole great thing
This side of death,
Heart on heart in the wonder of Spring!'
So the bird saith—
The wise bird saith!