| As I came to the edge of the woods
|
| Thrush music -- hark!
|
| Now if it was dusk outside
|
| Inside it was dark
|
| Too dark in the woods for a bird
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| By sleight of wing
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| To better its perch for the night
|
| Though it still could sing
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| The last of the light of the sun
|
| That had died in the west
|
| Still lived for one song more
|
| In a thrush’s breast
|
| Far in the pillared dark
|
| Thrush music went --
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| Almost like a call to come in
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| To the dark and lament
|
| But no, I was out for stars;
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| I would not come in
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| I meant not even if asked;
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| And I hadn’t been |