Winter Words Op. 52: VI. Proud Songsters

The thrushes sing as the sun is going

And the finches whistle in ones and pairs

And as it gets dark loud nightingales

In bushes pipe, pipe as they can when April wears

As if all time were theirs

These are brand-new birds of twelve months' growing

Which a year ago were less than twain

Nor finches were nor nightingales nor thrushes

But only particles of grain and earth and air and rain