by Edwin Markham (1852 - 1940)

Joy of the morning
Language: English 
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.


Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive)

Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]

This text was added to the website: 2009-01-26
Line count: 12
Word count: 84