A Thursh’s Song – Spring Term 1918

Listen to the thrush that’s singing, singing to his mate,
Singing in the apple-tree by the garden gate;
Since the morning he’s been singing all the livelong day,
Blending songs of Joy and gladness in sweet symphony.
“My mate, my own dear heart. I love, love, love you,
Green is the grass, blue are the skies above you.
Because I’m happy, and because it’s Spring,
Because I love you, dear, to you I sing.
Gold are the kingcups flowering in the meadow,
Blue are the bluebells swinging in the shadow,
And every bird is calling to his fellow
In dulcet notes and mellow:
“My mate, my own dear heart, I love, love, love you,
Green is the grass, blue are the skies above you,
Because I’m happy and because it’s Spring,
Because I love you, dear, to you I sing.
The sunbeams on the stream are shining brightly,
The wind is moving all the daisies lightly,
To-day is sweet, and sweet will be to-morrow,
Then bid farewell to sorrow!
My mate, my own dear heart, I love, love, love you,
Green is the grass, blue are the skies above you,
Because, I’m happy, and because it’s Spring,
Because I love you, dear, to you I sing.”

J. BUCKLE (Lower VA.).

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