’Mong happy thronging shades, that point and say:
“There go the great Ulysses, loved of gods,
And she, his wife, most faithful unto death!”
THE SINGER.
O lark! sweet lark!
Where learn you all your minstrelsy?
What realms are those to which you fly?
While robins feed their young from dawn till dark,
You soar on high,—
Forever in the sky.