Arthur Quiller-Couch, comp. The Oxford Book of Victorian Verse. 1922.
The BlackbirdHenry Charles Beeching (18591919)
D
And while the sky is blue to-day,
Here in this sunny shelter sit,
To list the blackbird’s lay.
Is love so new and strange, that thou
Must with that wild and shrilling joy
Thrill the yet wintry bough?
‘I come, I come, O love, O my love,’—
And he is fluttering to her feet
In yonder purple grove.
And dreams of mellow ripeness make
So ripe, so rich his warbling throat
For spouse and children’s sake.
Of cherry is hardly white, and figs
Are leafless, and thy nuptial bower
A cage of rattling twigs.
Substance, and love sufficient fire;
And Art in these finds ampler scope
Than in fulfill’d desire.
Till some May night with moonshine pale,
Thou pin’st, to hear by wood or lawn
Apollo’s nightingale.