To hear her sing--to hear her sing-- <br />It is to hear the birds of Spring <br />In dewy groves on blooming sprays <br />Pour out their blithest roundelays. <br /> <br />It is to hear the robin trill <br />At morning, or the whip-poor-will <br />At dusk, when stars are blossoming-- <br />To hear her sing--to hear her sing! <br /> <br />To hear her sing--it is to hear <br />The laugh of childhood ringing clear <br />In woody path or grassy lane <br />Our feet may never fare again. <br /> <br />Faint, far away as Memory dwells, <br />It is to hear the village bells <br />At twilight, as the truant hears <br />Them, hastening home, with smiles and tears. <br /> <br />Such joy it is to hear her sing, <br />We fall in love with everything-- <br />The simple things of every day <br />Grow lovelier than words can say. <br /> <br />The idle brooks that purl across <br />The gleaming pebbles and the moss, <br />We love no less than classic streams-- <br />The Rhines and Arnos of our dreams. <br /> <br />To hear her sing--with folded eyes, <br />It is, beneath Venetian skies, <br />To hear the gondoliers' refrain, <br />Or troubadours of sunny Spain.-- <br /> <br />To hear the bulbul's voice that shook <br />The throat that trilled for Lalla Rookh: <br />What wonder we in homage bring <br />Our hearts to her--to hear her sing!<br /><br />James Whitcomb Riley<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-hear-her-sing/
