Down Wessex way, when spring's a-shine,
       &nbsp The blackbird's "pret-ty de-urr!"
In Wessex accents marked as mine
       &nbsp Is heard afar and near.

He flutes it strong, as if in song
       &nbsp No R's of feebler tone
Than his appear in "pretty dear,"
       &nbsp Have blackbirds ever known.

Yet they pipe "prattie deerh!" I glean,
       &nbsp Beneath a Scottish sky,
And "pehty de-aw!" amid the treen
       &nbsp Of Middlesex or nigh.

While some folk say—perhaps in play -
       &nbsp Who know the Irish isle,
'Tis "purrity dare!" in treeland there
       &nbsp When songsters would beguile.

Well: I'll say what the listening birds
       &nbsp Say, hearing "pret-ty de-urr!" -
However strangers sound such words,
       &nbsp That's how we sound them here.

Yes, in this clime at pairing time,
       &nbsp As soon as eyes can see her
At dawn of day, the proper way
       &nbsp To call is "pret-ty de-urr!"