O Blackbird! sing me something well:
  While all the neighbors shoot thee round,
  I keep smooth plats of fruitful ground,
Where thou may’st warble, eat, and dwell.

The espaliers and the standards all
  Are thine; the range of lawn and park:
  The unnetted black-hearts ripen dark;
All thine, against the garden wall.

Yet, tho’...