OUT of the heart there flew a little singing bird, Past the dawn and the dew, where leaves of morning stirred, And the heart, which followed on, said: "Though the bird be flown Which sang in the dew and the dawn, the song is still my own." Over the foot-worn track, over the rock and thorn, The tired heart looked back to the olive leaves of morn, To the fair, lost fields again, and said: "I hear it! Oh, hark!" -- Though the bird were long since slain, though the song had died in the dark. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE UNSUNG HEROES by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR ON A CERTAIN LADY AT COURT by ALEXANDER POPE HONEY DRIPPING FROM THE COMB by JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY CRADLE SONG (TO A TUNE OF BLAKE'S): 1 by ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE DEAD AUTUMN by BEULAH ALLYNE BELL |