The Shrike

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THE SHRIKE

Hark! hark! from out the thickest fog
Warbles with might and main
The fearless shrike, as all agog
To find in fog his gain.


His steady sails he never furls
At any time o' year,
And, perchèd now on Winter's curls,
He whistles in his ear.[1]

  1. [Excursions, p. 109; Riv. 134.]