so written ohor's birthday,
on hearing a thrush sing in his m walk.
sing on, sweet thrush, upon the leafless bough,
sing on, sweet bird, i listen to thy strain,
see aged winter, 'mid his surly reign,
at thy blythe carol, clears his furrowed brow.
so in lone poverty's dominion drear,
sits meek tent with light, unanxious heart;
weles the rapid moments, bids them part,
nor asks if they bring ought to hope or fear.
i thank thee, author of this opening day!
thou whose bright sun now gilds yon orient skies!
riches dehy boon urer joys—
what wealth cou
Sonnet Written On The Authors Birthday,(1/2)