The ballad was a lively one, the tune was loud and cheery,
And yet with every setting sun I listened for the veery.
O far away, and far away, the tawny thrush is singing,
New England woods at close of day with that clear chant are
ringing;
And when my light of life is low, and heart and flesh are weary,
I fain would hear, before I go, the wood-notes of the veery.
1895.