Robert Browning in Continental exile is memorably homesick for England in springtime.

But his wonderful evocation of the season with its blossom and birdsong is as relevant to our northern parts of the United Kingdom as to the south. He is one of many poets who has a special affection for the that ebullient songster, the thrush!

HOME THOUGHTS, FROM ABROAD

                               1

Oh, to be in England

Now that April’s there,

And whoever wakes in England

Sees, some morning, unaware,

That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf

Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf,

While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough

In England  - now!

                               2

And after April, when May follows,

And the whitethroat builds, and all the swallows!

Hark, where my blossomed pear-tree in the hedge

Leans to the field and scatters on the clover

Blossoms and dewdrops – at the bent spray’s edge –

That’s the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over,

Lest you should think he never could recapture

The first fine careless rapture!

And though the fields look rough with hoary dew

All will be gay when noontide wakes anew

The buttercups, the little children’s dower

- Far brighter than this gaudy melon-flower!