Many Many Moons/The White-Throat
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THE WHITE-THROAT
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Deep in the somber solitude,Where only curious stars intrude,In the sultry blight of August haze,Or the rain-washed air of April days,The white-throat flutes in cadence longHis golden rivulet of song:"All-day-long-fiddlin', fiddlin', fiddlin'."
What joy he feels, what pride he takesIn the simple tune he makes!He never envies Robin's trills;He never seems to care for frills—Just content in a humble wayOn his single golden string to play:"All-day-long-fiddlin', fiddlin', fiddlin'."
O lone drab singer! never wearyWhen other brilliant birds are dreary,Teach me my humble task to doWith buoyant faith and courage true;With a eladsome heart in sun or rainTo sing unheard the brave refrain:"All-day-long-fiddlin', fiddlin', fiddlin'."