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Is it for thee the linnet pours his throat? Loves of his own, and raptures swell the note. - Alexander Pope, Essay on Man (ep. III, l. 33) Perch'd on the cedar's topmost bough, And gay with gilded wings, Perchance the patron of his vow, Some artless linnet sings. - William Shenstone, Valentine's Day I do sing because I must, And pipe but as the linnets sing. - Lord Alfred Tennyson, In Memoriam (pt. XXI, st. 6) Linnets . . . sit On the dead tree, a dull despondent flock. - James Thomson (1), Seasons--Autumn (l. 974) Hail to thee, far above the rest In joy of voice and pinion! Thou, linnet! in thy green array, Presiding spirit here to-day, Dost lead the revels of the May; And this is thy dominion. - William Wordsworth, The Green Linnet
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