Oh, the birds of the air, in the sky far up there, They are winging, they are singing -- the birds of the air. More purely than all passion -- bright, bright above all pain, The birds of the air, they are calling you again! For on high the windy meadows of skyland are blest With golden lights, blue shadows, high turrets where they nest -- With the merlons and the embrasures of cloud castles white, Where warm sunshine enchants them from morn to starry night. So they trill from tree and lawn and the leaves of our eaves, But they fly from us for rapture of a world that bereaves This world of light and substance. They soar and find the true Where our care covets glory in bliss beyond the blue. Aye, when colors like to music -- magic music -- suffuse The skies, with dawn or evening, they soar for fuller news. They choir before the maiden East. They cloud her golden hair. Through the sally-ports of sunset wing the birds of the air. The birds of the air, in the blue far up there, They are winging, they are singing -- the birds of the air. More purely than all passion -- bright, bright above all pain, The birds of the air, they are calling you again! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE RIVULET by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT ODE SUNG AT THE OPENING OF THE INTERNATIONAL EXHIBITION by ALFRED TENNYSON MY VERY PARTICULAR FRIEND by MARIA ABDY AN AUTUMN NIGHT by JOHANNA AMBROSIUS CHRISTMAS HYMN by HARRIET AUBER SONNETS OF MANHOOD: 33. RED DAWN by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) |