But all I hear the sound of passing trucks
And human voices on the noisy street.
But even through the heavy man made noise
I still can hear the wild birds far away
The dipper piping in the stream I loved
In what to me now seems a distant day.
The little wren and his explosive song,
The robin carolling on the cypress tree,
The swallows o’er the fields wing to and fro,
The things I loved I still can hear and see.
The magpie’s scratchy voice in the green wood,
The cuckoo’s song familiar to the May,
The skylark carolling above the bog
A tiny speck amongst the blue and gray.
The dunnock on the hedgerow sometimes faint
And moorhen in the river calling loud
Though far away those voices seem quite near
And dearer to me than the noisy crowd.
The traffic noise and voices on the street
But I still hear sweet sounds of yesterday
And I still hear those voices I once loved
I brought them from a Country far away.

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