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C.N. Douglas, comp.  Forty Thousand Quotations: Prose and Poetical.  1917.
        The birds have ceased their songs,
All save the blackbird, that from yon tall ash,
’Mid Pinkie’s greenery, from his mellow throat,
In adoration of the setting sun,
Chants forth his evening hymn.
        O Blackbird! sing me something well:
  While all the neighbors shoot thee round,
  I keep smooth plats of fruitful ground,
Where thou may’st warble, eat and dwell.
          Golden Bill! Golden Bill!
    Lo, the peep of day;
  All the air is cool and still,
  From the elm-tree on the hill,
    Chant away:
*        *        *        *        *
Let thy loud and welcome lay
Pour alway
Few notes but strong.
        How sweet the harmonies of the afternoon!
  The Blackbird sings along the sunny breeze
His ancient song of leaves, and summer boon;
  Rich breath of hayfields streams thro’ whispering trees;
And birds of morning trim their bustling wings,
And listen fondly—while the Blackbird sings.
Frederick Tennyson.    

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