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In his deservedly famous poem The Darkling Thrush Thomas Hardy looks out over a desolate landscape which seems to reflect his own forlorn sense of what the world has become. Against the gloomy backdrop he suddenly sees and then hears a decrepit bird, an old thrush, that holds forth in song. Its cheery note is so anomalous to his dark thoughts that it makes him think the bird must know something he does not. Hence my own title. Since, in a world gone to bloody hell, I find yet much to celebrate, my song is Known By the Darkling Thrush.