BRIEF, brief is the song I sing; It cannot profit anything. High, high are the notes I call,— So high no echo comes at all. Far, far where the hills are green I fly, and call, and am never seen. You—you will never know Why I sing,—where I go! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PORTRAIT OF A BABY by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET MOUNTAIN FARM by MALCOLM COWLEY |