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Hermit Thrush

by Hilda Conkling

Something that cannot be said in words . . .
Something sweet and unknown . . .
The wind . . . the brook . . .
Something that comes to a trembling fuller tone
Like a waterfall . . .
That little brown creature is singing
A music of water, a music of worlds;
He will fly away south,
But his song stays in the heart
Once it is heard.

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