Belleau.
The ballad-singers and the Troubadours,
The street-musicians of the Heavenly City,
The birds, who make sweet music for us all,
In our dark hours, as David did for Saul.
The thrush that carols at the dawn of day,
From the green steeples of the piny woods,
Linnet and meadow-lark, and all the throng
That dwell in nests and have the gift of song.
Longfellow.
The lark, that shuns on lofty boughs to build
Her humble nest, lies silent in the field;
But if (the promise of a cloudless day)
Aurora, smiling, bids her rise and play,
Then straight she shows 'twas not for want of voice,