XI

What doth the blackbird in the boughs Sing all day to his nested spouse? What but the song of his old Mother-Earth, In her mighty humour of lust and mirth?

‘ Love and God's will go wing and wing, And as for death, is there any such thing?’ — In the shadow of death, So, at the beck of the wizard Spring

The dear bird saith — So the bird saith! Caught with us all in the nets of fate, So the sweet wretch sings early and late;

And, O my fairest, after all, The heart of the World's in his innocent call. The will of the World's with him wing and wing:— ‘ Life — life — life!‘ Tis the sole great thing

This side of death, Heart on heart in the wonder of Spring!’ So the bird saith — The wise bird saith!