OUT of the heart there flew a little singing bird, Past the dawn and the dew, where leaves of morning stirred, And the heart, which followed on, said: "Though the bird be flown Which sang in the dew and the dawn, the song is still my own." Over the foot-worn track, over the rock and thorn, The tired heart looked back to the olive leaves of morn, To the fair, lost fields again, and said: "I hear it! Oh, hark!" -- Though the bird were long since slain, though the song had died in the dark. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A CHILD'S PRAYER [OR, HYMN] by MATILDA BARBARA BETHAM-EDWARDS ECHO AND THE FERRY by JEAN INGELOW AT A SOLEMN MUSIC by JOHN MILTON SPRING QUIET by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI THE SWAN SONG OF PARSON AVERY by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER WHEN I WAS YOUNG by IRMA TIBBETTS ANDREWS |