Thrushes
| TOSSED on the glittering air they soar and skim, | |
| Whose voices make the emptiness of light | |
| A windy palace. Quavering from the brim | |
| Of dawn, and bold with song at edge of night, | |
| They clutch their leafy pinnacles and sing | 5 |
| Scornful of man, and from his toils aloof | |
| Whose heart's a haunted woodland whispering; | |
| Whose thoughts return on tempest-baffled wing; | |
| Who hears the cry of God in everything, | |
| And storms the gate of nothingness for proof. |
-Siegfried Sassoon
