8ASIAN BIRDSIn this May-month, by graceof heaven, things shoot apace.The waiting multitudeof fair boughs in the wood,How few days have arrayedtheir beauty in green shadeWhat have I seen or heard?it was the yellow birdSang in the tree: he flewa flame against the blue;Upward he flashed. Again,hark! ’tis his heavenly strain.Another! Hush! Behold,many, like boats of gold,From waving branch to branchtheir airy bodies launch.What music is like this,where each note is a kiss?The golden willows lifttheir boughs the sun to sift:Their sprays they droop to screenthe sky with veils of green,A floating cage of song,where feathered lovers throng.How the delicious notescome bubbling from their throats!Full and sweet how they are shedlike round pearls from a thread!The motions of their flightare wishes of delight.Hearing their song I tracethe secret of their grace.Ah, could I this fair timeso fashion into rhyme,The poem that I singwould be the voice of spring.
8ASIAN BIRDSIn this May-month, by graceof heaven, things shoot apace.The waiting multitudeof fair boughs in the wood,How few days have arrayedtheir beauty in green shadeWhat have I seen or heard?it was the yellow birdSang in the tree: he flewa flame against the blue;Upward he flashed. Again,hark! ’tis his heavenly strain.Another! Hush! Behold,many, like boats of gold,From waving branch to branchtheir airy bodies launch.What music is like this,where each note is a kiss?The golden willows lifttheir boughs the sun to sift:Their sprays they droop to screenthe sky with veils of green,A floating cage of song,where feathered lovers throng.How the delicious notescome bubbling from their throats!Full and sweet how they are shedlike round pearls from a thread!The motions of their flightare wishes of delight.Hearing their song I tracethe secret of their grace.Ah, could I this fair timeso fashion into rhyme,The poem that I singwould be the voice of spring.
In this May-month, by graceof heaven, things shoot apace.The waiting multitudeof fair boughs in the wood,How few days have arrayedtheir beauty in green shadeWhat have I seen or heard?it was the yellow birdSang in the tree: he flewa flame against the blue;Upward he flashed. Again,hark! ’tis his heavenly strain.Another! Hush! Behold,many, like boats of gold,From waving branch to branchtheir airy bodies launch.What music is like this,where each note is a kiss?The golden willows lifttheir boughs the sun to sift:Their sprays they droop to screenthe sky with veils of green,A floating cage of song,where feathered lovers throng.How the delicious notescome bubbling from their throats!Full and sweet how they are shedlike round pearls from a thread!The motions of their flightare wishes of delight.Hearing their song I tracethe secret of their grace.Ah, could I this fair timeso fashion into rhyme,The poem that I singwould be the voice of spring.
In this May-month, by graceof heaven, things shoot apace.The waiting multitudeof fair boughs in the wood,How few days have arrayedtheir beauty in green shadeWhat have I seen or heard?it was the yellow birdSang in the tree: he flewa flame against the blue;Upward he flashed. Again,hark! ’tis his heavenly strain.Another! Hush! Behold,many, like boats of gold,From waving branch to branchtheir airy bodies launch.What music is like this,where each note is a kiss?The golden willows lifttheir boughs the sun to sift:Their sprays they droop to screenthe sky with veils of green,A floating cage of song,where feathered lovers throng.How the delicious notescome bubbling from their throats!Full and sweet how they are shedlike round pearls from a thread!The motions of their flightare wishes of delight.Hearing their song I tracethe secret of their grace.Ah, could I this fair timeso fashion into rhyme,The poem that I singwould be the voice of spring.
In this May-month, by graceof heaven, things shoot apace.The waiting multitudeof fair boughs in the wood,How few days have arrayedtheir beauty in green shade
In this May-month, by grace
of heaven, things shoot apace.
The waiting multitude
of fair boughs in the wood,
How few days have arrayed
their beauty in green shade
What have I seen or heard?it was the yellow birdSang in the tree: he flewa flame against the blue;Upward he flashed. Again,hark! ’tis his heavenly strain.
What have I seen or heard?
it was the yellow bird
Sang in the tree: he flew
a flame against the blue;
Upward he flashed. Again,
hark! ’tis his heavenly strain.
Another! Hush! Behold,many, like boats of gold,From waving branch to branchtheir airy bodies launch.What music is like this,where each note is a kiss?
Another! Hush! Behold,
many, like boats of gold,
From waving branch to branch
their airy bodies launch.
What music is like this,
where each note is a kiss?
The golden willows lifttheir boughs the sun to sift:Their sprays they droop to screenthe sky with veils of green,A floating cage of song,where feathered lovers throng.
The golden willows lift
their boughs the sun to sift:
Their sprays they droop to screen
the sky with veils of green,
A floating cage of song,
where feathered lovers throng.
How the delicious notescome bubbling from their throats!Full and sweet how they are shedlike round pearls from a thread!The motions of their flightare wishes of delight.
How the delicious notes
come bubbling from their throats!
Full and sweet how they are shed
like round pearls from a thread!
The motions of their flight
are wishes of delight.
Hearing their song I tracethe secret of their grace.Ah, could I this fair timeso fashion into rhyme,The poem that I singwould be the voice of spring.
Hearing their song I trace
the secret of their grace.
Ah, could I this fair time
so fashion into rhyme,
The poem that I sing
would be the voice of spring.