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Continue to ChatEvery spring I hear the thrush singing in the glowing woods he is only passing through. His voice is deep, then he lifts it until it seems to fall from the sky. I am thrilled. I am grateful. Then, by the end of morning, he's gone, nothing but silence out of the tree where he rested for a night. And this I find acceptable. Not enough is a poor life. But too much is, well, too much. Imagine Verdi or Mahler every day, all day. It would exhaust anyone. - Mary Oliver from https://whatsmyquote.com/quote/every-spring-i-hear-the-thrush-singing-in-the-glowing-woods-he-is-only-passing-through-his-voice-is-deep-then