My Starlings—April.
My starlings ! Your singing1
Is in my memory ringing ;2
With a voice that knew no sadness,3
With each note a song of gladness,4
You sought the self-same tree5
Every morn to welcome me.6
Then there came a bitter cold,7
And your little tale was told.8
When the day had sprung from dawn,9
You lay dead upon the lawn,10
On the lawn you loved so well,11
When the day to noontide fell.12
Though the young of your upbringing13
Have taken up your singing,14
How I miss with every day15
Your first-loved roundelay.16