  "Tshirr!" scolds the oriole Where the elms stir, Flaunting her gourd-like nest On the tree's swaying crest: "May's here, I cannot rest, Go away; tshirr!" "Tshirr!" scolds the oriole Where the leaves blur, Giving her threads a jerk, Spying where rivals lurk, "May's here, and I'm at work. Go away, tshirr!" |
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