A few years ago I noted Keats’ references to and delight in a thrush in his garden, and so found a kindred joy in Dorothy’s writing about the singing thrush, which she later describes as ‘our own Thrush’, mentioning its ‘impatient shout’.

‘The thrush is singing. There are I do believe a thousand Buds on the honeysuckle tree all small & far from blowing save one that is retired behind the twigs close to the wall & as snug as a Bird’s nest.’  Thursday 3rd June 1802

‘There was our own Thrush shouting with an impatient shout – so it sounded to me.’  Saturday 19th June 1802

Source: Dorothy Wordsworth, The Grasmere and Alfoxden Journals, ed. and introduction by Pamela Woof (Oxford: Oxford World’s Classics, 2008 (2002)), p. 104 & 112

Photo credit: KRiemer at pixabay.com