How sweet the harmonies of afternoon:
The Blackbird sings along the sunny breeze
His ancient song of leaves, and summer boon;
Rich breath of hayfields streams through whispering trees;
And birds of morning trim their bustling wings,
And listen fondly, while the Blackbird sings.
How soft the love light of the West reposes
On this green valley's cheery solitude,
On the trim cottage with its screen of roses,
And murmuring mill-race, and the wheel 
Its bubbling freshness—while the Blackbird sings.