by Sara Teasdale (1884 - 1933)

Language: English 
Dreamily over the roofs
  The cold spring rain is falling;
Out in the lonely tree
  A bird is calling, calling.

Slowly over the earth
  The wings of night are falling;
My heart like the bird in the tree
  Is calling, calling, calling.

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Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]

This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 8
Word count: 42