The Blackbird in New Zealand.
The blackbird makes loud music here In tropic tree-ferns. . . . Glassy clear, Yet alien singing to mine ear. His songs are tuned to English skies, To meadows where gold magic les, Where harebeils mirror children’s eyes. Held in the arms of English treesThe spirit and the voice of theseEntranced, he rocks upon the breezes Carolleth his sweet messages In gentle grey stone villages IVhere Cotswold streweth primroses: A morning joy, a higher sense, A flame of loveliness, intense Beyond the world’s magnificence. But here-but now-I know not whyThe blackbird, to the Southern sky, Shouts a cold heartless ynelody : "Good-bye!"
M. A.
Latter
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https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/periodicals/RADREC19320610.2.56
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Radio Record, Volume V, Issue 48, 10 June 1932, Unnumbered Page
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106The Blackbird in New Zealand. Radio Record, Volume V, Issue 48, 10 June 1932, Unnumbered Page
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