The linner and thrush say, "I love and I love!"
In the winter they're silent-the wind is so strong;
What it says, I don't know, but it sings a loud song.
And singing, and loving-all come back together.
But the lark is so brimful of gladness and love,
The green fields below him, the blue sky above,
That he sings, and he sings; and for ever sings he-