A mocking bird sang at my window, In the beautiful moon's pale light; With a hush in my heart I listened, In the peace of the calm midnight. He sang of the rippling brooklet Out in the forest, deep; He sang of the sloping hillside, Where the wild flowers vigil keep. He sang of the broad, green meadows, And the scent of new mown hay; He sang of the dawn of morning, And the glow of the closing day. He sang of the clouds in their glory, Of the gold, the red and the blue; Of the foaming, floating billows That reflect the sunset's hue. And again he sang of the forest, And his voice was sweet and low; I could see the phantom pictures As they wavered to and fro. And, oh, he sang the love-song, Mid the orange blooms so white; He sang of you, and I answered In the stillness of the night. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE STOLEN CHILD by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS IN AN OLD CEMETERY by LILLAH A. ASHLEY UNCLE OUT O' DEBT AN' OUT O' DANGER by WILLIAM BARNES TO A CRITIC OF TENNYSON by AMBROSE BIERCE A WOMAN'S SONNETS: 3 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT THE GREEN GRENADIERS by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE VIVAMUS by ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES TO MY HONOURED FRIEND MASTER THOMAS MAY, UPON HIS COMEDY, 'THE HEIR' by THOMAS CAREW |