SONG
And in the evening when I walked apart
For joy of that I carry in my heart,
The song I made brave thrushes did complete,
Shouting, “O, pretty Joy!” and “Sweet! Sweet! Sweet!”
This is my glory, this the crown of me:
That I hold joy of my love, and she of me;
And though my song be but a breath of air,
Yet is it greater than death and all despair.
For howso poor and of what base estate
I be, this love shall make me proud and great.
And howso deep in care I lie, there are words
Shall build my heart a nest of singing birds.