a bird in my bower Sat calling, a-calling; A bird answered low from the garden afar. His note came with power, While falling, a-falling, Her note quivered faint as the light of a star. “I am Life! I am Life!” From the bower a-ringing, Trilled forth a mad melody, soaring above; “I am Love! I am Love!” From the garden a-singing, Came soft as a dream, and the echoes sang “Love.” They joined, and together Fast flying, a-flying, Were lost to my gaze in the arch of the sky. The wind through the heather Is sighing, a-sighing; Ah! how should it ever do other than sigh? Where art thou, where art thou, Life, flying, a-flying? Where art thou, O Love, sweetest child of the dawn? The song in the meadow Is dying, a-dying; My heart groweth heavy, and whispereth—“Gone.”
Song
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a bird in my bower Sat calling, a-calling; A bird answered low from the garden afar. His note came with power, While falling, a-falling, Her note quivered faint as the light of a star. “I am Life! I am Life!” From the bower a-ringing, Trilled forth a mad melody, soaring above...
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