English poem
It was all in the Black Countree
by Geoffrey Bache Smith (1894–1916)
It was all in the Black Countree, What time the sweet o' the year should be, I saw a tree, all gaunt and grey, As mindful of a winter's day: And that a lonely bird did sit Upon the topmost branch of it, Who to my thought did sweeter sing Than any minstrel of a king.