The Thrush + 

When Winter’s ahead, + 

What can you read in November + 

That you read in April + 

When Winter’s dead? + 

I hear the thrush, and I see + 

Him alone at the end of the lane + 

Near the bare poplar’s tip, + 

Singing continuously. + 

Is it more that you know + 

Than that, even as in April, + 

So in November, + 

Winter is gone that must go? + 

Or is all your lore + 

Not to call November November, + 

And April April, + 

And Winter Winter⁠—no more? + 

But I know the months all, + 

And their sweet names, April, + 

May and June and October, + 

As you call and call + 

I must remember + 

What died into April + 

And consider what will be born + 

Of a fair November; + 

And April I love for what + 

It was born of, and November + 

For what it will die in, + 

What they are and what they are not, + 

While you love what is kind, + 

What you can sing in + 

And love and forget in + 

All that’s ahead and behind. + 