I hear the dew-drop twang upon the pool,—
Hark, hark, what music! from the rampart hills,
How like a far off bugle, sweet and clear,
It searches through the list’ning wilderness!—
A swan—I know it by the trumpet-tone—
Winging her pathless way in the cool heavens,
Piping her midnight melody, she comes.
Beautiful bird! upon the dark, still world
Thou fallest like an angel—like a lone
Sweet angel from some sphere of harmony.