When the war is over
I shall take my lute a-down to it
And sing again songs of the whispering things
Of the whispering things
And those I love, and those I love
Shall know them by their strain
Those I love
When the war is over
And April rainbows win a blackbird's song
Their airs shall be, their airs shall be
The blackbird's twilight song
But it is lonely now, lonely now
In winter, in winter long
And, God, to hear the blackbird
The blackbird sing once more
When the war is over, war is over
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