MY life feels like a mouse In some strange giant's house; Or like a single fly In a Saharan sky: Small part in life have I, Yet of one sort with it whole Is my small soul. Bird-life makes glad the trees, And tree-life throngs our hill, But life would fill An airier hive with souls for bees More room than, far from shore, A night-sky coops above wide seas: Though that were packed, outside were more. My eyes drink up the swallow's flight Swift, smooth and light: Their joy is free. The sound that heaves Like music up from a mile of leaves, Is glory to me. Then, there are waters gurgling along, And ladies together singing a song, Sounds that, entering my head, Move more than can be said. Oh! and by how much life, thought of, should Thrill more than flight, song, stream or wood! |