A stroll at dawn brings William Wordsworth, “Lines Written in Early Spring” to mind.
The birds around me hopped and played,
Their thoughts I cannot measure:—
But the least motion which they made
It seemed a thrill of pleasure.
The budding twigs spread out their fan,
To catch the breezy air;
And I must think, do all I can,
That there was pleasure there.
If you’ve been here in early spring, you know.

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