We may hear the bird sing but we cannot descry

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.

Though we listen entranced to its musical speech;

Who sees the lark's soul as it mounts from the sod,

Who sees the clear soul has a vision of God!