| I walked down the hall where the woods used to stand
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| Concrete at my feet, brick walls at every hand
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| And over my head steel girders so strong
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| Where I first felt the spell of the Wood Thrush’s song
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| Now the Wood Thrush has vanished, seeking the place
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| That’s not felt the crush of man’s embrace
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| The steep woods are gone now, and oh, how I long
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| To again feel the spell of the Wood Thrush’s song
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| Over my head just a few years ago
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| The poplar leaves shivered when the breezes did blow
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| Now the deep hum of engines drowns the soft sigh
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| Of the wind in the leaves of the few trees nearby
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| Man is the inventor, the builder, the sage
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| The writer and seeker of truth by the page
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| But all of his knowledge can never explain
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| The deep mystery of the Wood Thrush refrain |