by: Karle Wilson Baker
- hrough Tanglewood the thrushes trip,
- As brown as any clod,
- But in their spotted throats are hung
- The vesper-bells of God.
- And I know little secret truths,
- And hidden things of good,
- Since I have heard the thrushes sing
- At dusk, in Tanglewood.
MORE POEMS BY KARLE WILSON BAKER
|"Thrushes" is reprinted from Blue Smoke. Karle Wilson Baker. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1919.