I leant upon a coppice gate
When Frost was spectre-gray,
And Winter's dregs made desolate
The weakening eye of day.
The tangled¹ bine-stems scored the sky
Like strings² of broken lyres,
And all mankind that haunted nigh
Had sought their household fires.
The land's sharp features seemed to be
The Century's corpse³ outleant,
His crypt the cloudy canopy⁴,
The wind his death-lament.
The ancient pulse of germ and birth
Was shrunken hard and dry,
And every spirit upon earth
Seemed fervourless as I.
At once a voice arose among
The bleak⁵ twigs⁶ overhead
In a full-hearted evensong
Of joy illimited;
An agèd thrush, frail⁷, gaunt, and small,
In blast-beruffled plume⁸,
Had chosen thus to fling his soul
Upon the growing gloom.
So little cause for carolings
Of such ecstatic sound
Was written on terrestrial things
Afar or nigh around,
That I could think there trembled through
His happy good-night air
Some blessèd Hope, whereof he knew
And I was unaware⁹.

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    相关单词：

    thrush：画眉

    coppice： n.矮林

    dregs：n.渣滓,糟粕

    desolate：adj.荒凉的, 无人烟的

    plume：n.羽毛

    terrestrial：adjl.世俗的