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 heart,
(The world's mysterious stir)
But had no throat like yours, my bird,
Nor such a listener.