Suspect
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THE DARKLING TRUSH

I LEANT UPON A COPPINCE GATE,
WHEN FROST WAS SPECTLE GRAY,
AND WINTERS DREES MADE DESOLATE,
THE WEAKINING EYE OF DAY.

THE TANGLED BINE STEMS SCORED,
THE SKY LIKE STRINGS OF BROKEN LYERS,
AND ALL MANKIND THAT HAUNTED HIGH,
HADSOUGHT THEIR HOUSEHOLD FIRES.

THE DARKLING THRUSH IS FLYING ON THE NOMANSLAND.

THE LANDS SHARP FEATURES SEEMED,
TO BE THE CENTURYS CORPSE OUT LEANT,
HIS CRYPT THE CLOUDY CANOPY,
THE WIND HIS DEATH LAMENT.

THE ANCIENT PULSE OF GERM AND BIRTH,
WAS SHRUNKEN HARDN DRY,
AND EVERY SPIRIT UPON EARTH,
SEEMED FERVOURLESS AS I.

THE DARKLING THRUSH IS FLYING ON THE NOMANSLAND.

AT ONCE A VOICE ROSE AMONG,
THE BLEAK TWIGS OVER HEAD,
IN A FULL HEARTEDEVEN SONG,
OF JOY ILLIMITED.

AN ABED THRUSH FRAIL GAUNT,
AND SMALL IN BLAST BERUFFLED PLUME,
HAD CHOSEN THUS TO FLYNG HIS SOUL,
UPON THE GROWING GLOOM.

THE DARKLING THRUSH IS FLYING ON THE NOMANSLAND.

SO LITTLE CAUSE OF CAROLINGS,
OF SUCH ECSTATIC SOUND,
WAS WRITTEN ON TERRESTRIAL THINGS,
A FAR OR HIGH ARROUND.

THAT I COULD THINK,
THERE TREMBLED THROUGH,
HIS HAPPY,
GOOD NIGHT AIR.

THE DARKLING THRUSH IS FLYING ON THE NOMANSLAND.

SÖZ : KÖFTE
MÜZİK : SERDAR KARAŞİN