The Starlings

A poem by Charles Kingsley

Early in spring time, on raw and windy mornings,
Beneath the freezing house-eaves I heard the starlings sing -
'Ah dreary March month, is this then a time for building wearily?
Sad, sad, to think that the year is but begun.'

Late in the autumn, on still and cloudless evenings,
Among the golden reed-beds I heard the starlings sing -
'Ah that sweet March month, when we and our mates were courting merrily;
Sad, sad, to think that the year is all but done.'

Eversley, 1848.

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