  Wandering in the quiet of the bird sanctuary, a little girl hears the voice of a hermit thrush, and meditates this song: THE SONG While walking through a lonely wood I heard a lovely voice: A voice so fresh and true and good It made my heart rejoice. It sounded like a Sunday bell Rung softly in a town, Or like a stream that in a dell Forever trickles down. It seemed to be a voice of love That always had loved me, So softly it rang out above, So wild and wanderingly. O Voice, were you a golden dove, Or just a plain gray bird? O Voice, you are my wandering love Lost, yet forever heard. Out of her reverie grows the Masque which follows. THE MASQUE |
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