Hoyt & Roberts, comps. Hoyt’s New Cyclopedia of Practical Quotations. 1922.
Thrush
Across the noisy street
I hear him careless throw
One warning utterance sweet;
Then faint at first, and low,
The full notes closer grow;
Hark, what a torrent gush!
They pour, they overflow—
Sing on, sing on, O thrush!
Austin Dobson—Ballad of the Thrush.
O thrush, your song is passing sweet,
But never a song that you have sung
Is half so sweet as thrushes sang
When my dear love and I were young.
Wm. Morris—Other Days.
In the gloamin’ o’ the wood
The throssil whusslit sweet.
Wm. Motherwell—Jeanie Morrison.
I said to the brown, brown thrush:
“Hush—hush!
Through the wood’s full strains I hear
Thy monotone deep and clear,
Like a sound amid sounds most fine.”
D. M. Mulock—A Rhyme About Birds.
The throstle with his note so true,
The wren with little quill.
Midsummer Night’s Dream. Act III. Sc. 1. L. 130.
Sing, sweet thrushes, forth and sing!
Meet the moon upon the lea;
Are the emeralds of the spring
On the angler’s trysting-tree?
Tell, sweet thrushes, tell to me,
Are there buds on our willow-tree?
Buds and birds on our trysting-tree?
Thomas Tod Stoddart—The Angler’s Trysting-Tree.
Hush!
With sudden gush
As from a fountain sings in yonder bush
The Hermit Thrush.
John Bannister Tabb—Overflow.
When rosy plumelets tuft the larch,
And rarely pipes the mounted thrush.
Tennyson—In Memoriam. Pt. XCI.
At the corner of Wood Street, when daylight appears,
Hangs a thrush that sings loud, it has sung for three years.
Wordsworth—Reverie of Poor Susan.
And hark! how blithe the throstle sings!
He, too, is no mean preacher:
Come forth into the light of things,
Let Nature be your teacher.
Wordsworth—The Tables Turned.