THE Thrush, the Lark, and, chief, the Nightingale, <br />With one small bird whose name I do not ken, <br />Offered a Mass; the little bird was clerk, <br />At intervals he struck his silver bell. <br />The stars above that were but whitened then <br />The candles were; the altar was a stone; <br />Myself was there, with meet observances <br />Hearing the Mass the birds said in the dell. <br /> <br />It was the Lark who sang in dark's decrease <br />Kyrie Eleison; then the Nightingale <br />The Consecration chanted solemnly. <br />(The silver bell was rung for him in chief.) <br />And then the Thrush, the dweller in the vale, <br />Orate Fratres sang how near, how clear! <br />The Thrush it was who, as the sun appeared, <br />Held up the Monstrance, a dew-circled leaf!<br /><br />Padraic Colum<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/david-ap-gwillam-at-the-mass-of-the-birds/
