The Elevated on its perch, A-clang
Like to a District Messenger astir.
Thought you, it was a Nightingale that sang?
Ah! my Beloved, when it's Really Spring
We know it by the Buds a-blossoming,
Signals from earth to sky—Tremendous Sounds
That might to Some mean any Ancient Thing!
Then let us to the Caravan at Once,
The Sawdust where the Peanut haunts
The air with strange sweet Odors