Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). An American Anthology, 1787–1900. 1900.

By EdwinMarkham

1086 Joy of the Morning

I HEAR you, little bird,

Shouting a-swing above the broken wall.

Shout louder yet: no song can tell it all.

Sing to my soul in the deep, still wood:

’T is wonderful beyond the wildest word:

I ’d tell it, too, if I could.

Oft when the white still dawn

Lifted the skies and pushed the hills apart,

I ’ve felt it like a glory in my heart,

(The world’s mysterious stir)

But had no throat like yours, my bird,

Nor such a listener.