I hear you, little bird, <br />Shouting a-swing above the broken wall. <br />Shout louder yet: no song can tell it all. <br />Sing to my soul in the deep, still wood : <br />‘Tis wonderful beyond the wildest word: <br />I d tell it, too, if I could. <br /> <br />Oft when the white, still dawn <br />Lifted the skies and pushed the hills apart, <br />I’ve felt it like a glory in my heart <br />(The world s mysterious stir) <br />But had no throat like yours, my bird, <br />Nor such a listener.<br /><br />Edwin Markham<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/joy-of-the-morning/
