Through the air,
And the soul of the thrush bursts full into song
Everywhere.
There’s a throbbing and pulsing—the birth of a bloom—
Uplifting of purpose—out-shutting of gloom—
A radiancy rising of song and perfume—
And of prayer.
O listlessness sweet—O yearnings that spread
All about—
(As memories that meet in the eyes of the dead