Rook.— Throughout the field I find no grain;
The cruel frost encrusts the cornland!
Starling.— Aye: patient pecking now is vain
Throughout the field, I find...
Rook.— No grain!
Pigeon.— Nor will be, comrade, till it rain,
Or genial thawings loose the lorn land
Throughout the field.
Rook.— I find no grain:
The cruel frost encrusts the cornland!