I gave my thoughts a golden peach, br A silver citron tree; br They clustered dumbly out of reach br And would not sing for me. br br I built my thoughts a roof of rush, br A little byre beside; br They left my music to the thrush br And flew at eveningtide. br br I went my way and would not care br If they should come and go; br A thousand birds seemed up in air, br My thoughts were singing so.