I HEAR you, little bird, Shouting a-swing above the broken wall. Shout louder yet: no song can tell it all. Sing to my soul in the deep, still wood: 'T is wonderful beyond the wildest word: I'd tell it, too, if I could. Oft when the white still dawn Lifted the skies and pushed the hills apart, I've felt it like a glory in my heart, (The world's mysterious stir) But had no throat like yours, my bird, Nor such a listener. |