A LITTLE wild bird sometimes at my ear Sings his own verses very clear: Others sing louder that I do not hear. For singing loudly is not singing well; But ever by the song that 's soft and low The master-singer's voice is plain to tell. Few have it and yet all are masters now, And each of them can trill out what he calls His ballads, canzonets, and madrigals. The world with masters is so covered o'er, There is no room for pupils any more. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DEDICATION IN THESE DAY by HAYDEN CARRUTH THE INCORRIGIBLE DIRIGIBLE by HAYDEN CARRUTH TIRED by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON DOMESDAY BOOK: DOMESDAY BOOK by EDGAR LEE MASTERS SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: YEE BOW by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |