And the flying winds catch up the song.
It was nothing but—hush! a wild white-throated thrush,
That emptied his musical quiver
With a charm and a spell over valley and dell
On the banks of the Runaway River.
"O sing! sing-away! sing-away!"
Yet the song of the wild singer had
The sound of a soul that is glad.
And, beneath the glad sun, may a glad-hearted one
Set the world to the tune of his gladness.