The heart of the singer; the great mystery
Of the singing is hidden from sight, and the heart
Of the sweet singing bird has a vision apart;
We may listen intently to catch the sweet theme,
But who can interpret the soul of the dream?
We may hear the bird sing, catch each generous note
That pours to the air from its quivering throat,
See the breast rent with ardors; unfathomed, deep-stirred
Folded under the song lies the soul of the bird,
Unsounded and soundless, too deep for our reach.