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Theme 13: The Seasons 
<  Poem 2: The Green Linnet  >
poem

<    William Wordsworth   >

 

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Poems in Two Volumes (1807, 37)
composed 1803 (33)


Beneath these fruit-tree boughs that shed 
Their snow-white blossoms on my head, 
With brightest sunshine round me spread 
Of spring's unclouded weather, 
In this sequestered nook how sweet 
To sit upon my orchard-seat! 
And birds and flowers once more to 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 of voice and pinion
Thou, Linnet! in thy green array, 
Presiding Spirit here today, 
Dost lead the revels of the May; 
And this is thy dominion. 

While bird, and butterflies, and flowers, 
Make all one band of paramours, 
Thou, ranging up and down the bowers, 
Art sole in thy employment: 
A Life, a Presence like the Air, 
Scattering thy gladness without care, 
Too blest with any one to pair; 
Thyself thy own enjoyment. 

Amid yon tuft of hazel trees, 
That twinkle to the gusty breeze, 
Behold him perched in ecstasies, 
Yet seeming still to hover; 
There! where the flutter of his wings 
Upon his back and body flings 
Shadows and sunny glimmerings, 
That cover him all over. 

My dazzled sight he 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 treated with disdain 
The voiceless Form he chose to feign, 
While fluttering in the bushes.

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