Does the thrush drink wild honey? a nectar distilled

From the flowers of the field, that his message is filled

With such sweetness? O'er the twilight 'tis ringing—

June's divinest refrain, 'tis a soul that is singing,

Oh, so trustfully sweet, rapture blended with pain,

Rings the silver bell softly, I hear it again,

And the wood is enchanted, uncertain it seems,

As some moment of waking, the dreams, oh the dreams!

Does he bathe evermore in the miracle springs,

That his wings and his heart are in rhythm when he sings?

Tears moisten the harpstrings, they quiver with pain,

Then the triumph, the peace but the finest souls gain—

Earth's losses, its tears through the notes sweep along,

The longings of earth find a voice in the song,

Till outechoed by angels they find a release,

To be silenced henceforth, merged in infinite peace.

Will the spirit bird sing through the ages to come,

Or the soul take its flight and, still singing, go home,

And the world weep aghast when, the music withdrawn,

The lark still a wing tells the rapture of dawn?