I hear you, little bird,
Shouting a-swing above the broken wall.
Shout louder yet: no song can tell it all.
Sing to my soul in the deep, still wood:
’T is wonderful beyond the wildest word:
I ’d tell it, too, if I could.

Oft when the white still dawn
Lifted the skies and pushed the hills apart,
I ’ve felt it like a glory in my...