This recluse croons his roundelay.
But startle him,—a flash of gray,
And, Hush—Hush—Hush—Hush—
Go ’way,—Go ’way—.
III.
Wild cherry bough and hanging nest,
And calls amid the apple bloom,
No need to tell whose flaming breast
And fluting note lead all the rest,—
Glory—Glory—Glory—Glory—