Is it for thee the linnet pours his throat?
Loves of his own, and raptures swell the note.

Is it for thee the linnet pours his throat?
Loves of his own, and raptures swell the note.

I do sing because I must,
And pipe but as the linnets sing.

I do sing because I must,
And pipe but as the linnets sing.

Linnets . . . sit
On the dead tree, a dull despondent flock.

Linnets . . . sit
On the dead tree, a dull despondent flock.

Hail to thee, far above the rest
In joy of voice and pinion!
Thou, linnet! in thy read more

Hail to thee, far above the rest
In joy of voice and pinion!
Thou, linnet! in thy green array,
Presiding spirit here to-day,
Dost lead the revels of the May;
And this is thy dominion.