The Green Linnet
William Wordsworth
1770 to 1850
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Beneath these fruit-tree boughs that shed
Their snow-white blossoms my head,
With brightest sunshine round me spread
Of spring's unclouded weather,
In this sequestered nook how sweet
To upon my orchard-seat!
And birds and flowers once more greet,
My last year's friends together.
One have I marked, the happiest guest
In all this covert of the blest:
Hail to Thee, far above the rest
In joy voice and pinion!
Thou, Linnet! in thy green array,
Spirit here to-day,
Dost lead the revels of the May;
And this is thy dominion.
While birds, and butterflies, flowers,
Make all one band of paramours,
Thou, ranging and down the bowers,
Art sole in thy employment:
Life, a Presence like the Air,
Scattering thy gladness care,
Too blest with any one to pair;
Thyself own enjoyment.
Amid yon tuft of hazel trees,
That to the gusty breeze,
Behold him perched in ecstasies,
seeming still to hover;
There! where the flutter of wings
Upon his back and body flings
Shadows and glimmerings,
That cover him all over.
My dazzled sight oft deceives,
A brother of the dancing leaves;
Then flits, and from the cottage-eaves
Pours forth his song in gushes;
As if by that exulting strain
He mocked and with disdain
The voiceless Form he chose to feign,
fluttering in the bushes.