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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=386616" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The songster</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=386616" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Music, music with throb and swing, <br> Of a plaintive note, and long; <br>'Tis a note no human throat could sing, <br>No harp with its dulcet golden string,-- <br>Nor lute, nor lyre with liquid ring, <br> Is sweet as the robin's song. </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=386616" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">He sings for love of the season <br> When the days grow warm and long, <br>For the beautiful God-sent reason <br> That his breast was born for song. </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=386616" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Calling, calling so fresh and clear, <br> Through the song-sweet days of May; <br>Warbling there, and whistling here, <br>He swells his voice on the drinking ear, <br>On the great, wide, pulsing atmosphere <br> Till his music drowns the day. </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=386616" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">He sings for love of the season <br> When the days grow warm and long, <br>For the beautiful God-sent reason <br> That his breast was born for song.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Emily+Pauline+Johnson">Emily Pauline Johnson</a></strong></div>

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