The cock's clear voice into the clearer air Where westward far I roam, Mounts with a thrill of hope, Falls with a sigh of home. A rural sentry, he from farm and field The coming morn descries, And, mankind's bugler, wakes The camp of enterprise. He sings the morn upon the westward hills Strange and remote and wild; He sings it in the land Where once I was a child. He brings to me dear voices of the past, The old land and the years: My father calls for me, My weeping spirit hears. Fife, fife, into the golden air, O bird, And sing the morning in; For the old days are past And new days begin. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO THE PLIOCENE SKULL by FRANCIS BRET HARTE ULTIMA THULE: THE TIDE RISES by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW THE POET AND HIS BOOK by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY IMAGINATION, FR. A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE THE CLOUD by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY |