A mocking bird sang at my window, In the beautiful moon's pale light; With a hush in my heart I listened, In the peace of the calm midnight. He sang of the rippling brooklet Out in the forest, deep; He sang of the sloping hillside, Where the wild flowers vigil keep. He sang of the broad, green meadows, And the scent of new mown hay; He sang of the dawn of morning, And the glow of the closing day. He sang of the clouds in their glory, Of the gold, the red and the blue; Of the foaming, floating billows That reflect the sunset's hue. And again he sang of the forest, And his voice was sweet and low; I could see the phantom pictures As they wavered to and fro. And, oh, he sang the love-song, Mid the orange blooms so white; He sang of you, and I answered In the stillness of the night. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE EVENING WIND by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT THE FLYING DUTCHMAN by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON NEWS OF THE WORLD: 3 by GEORGE BARKER MAXIMS FOR THE OLD HOUSE: THE HEARTH by ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH VOICES OF THE NIGHT by CHARLES STUART CALVERLEY AN UNSUSPECTED FACT by EDWARD CANNON AUTUMN [OR, NOVEMBER DAYS] by JOHN CLARE TALES OF THE HALL: BOOK 6. ADVENTURES OF RICHARD CONCLUDED by GEORGE CRABBE |