|
| He rises and begins to round, |
|
| He drops the silver chain of sound |
|
| Of many links without a break, |
|
| In chirrup, whistle, slur and shake, |
|
| All intervolv’d and spreading wide, |
5 |
| Like water-dimples down a tide |
|
| Where ripple ripple overcurls |
|
| And eddy into eddy whirls; |
|
| A press of hurried notes that run |
|
| So fleet they scarce are more than one, |
10 |
| Yet changingly the trills repeat |
|
| And linger ringing while they fleet, |
|
| Sweet to the quick o’ the ear, and dear |
|
| To her beyond the handmaid ear, |
|
| Who sits beside our inner springs, |
15 |
| Too often dry for this he brings, |
|
| Which seems the very jet of earth |
|
| At sight of sun, her musci’s mirth, |
|
| As up he wings the spiral stair, |
|
| A song of light, and pierces air |
20 |
| With fountain ardor, fountain play, |
|
| To reach the shining tops of day, |
|
| And drink in everything discern’d |
|
| An ecstasy to music turn’d, |
|
| Impell’d by what his happy bill |
25 |
| Disperses; drinking, showering still, |
|
| Unthinking save that he may give |
|
| His voice the outlet, there to live |
|
| Renew’d in endless notes of glee, |
|
| So thirsty of his voice is he, |
30 |
| For all to hear and all to know |
|
| That he is joy, awake, aglow, |
|
| The tumult of the heart to hear |
|
| Through pureness filter’d crystal-clear, |
|
| And know the pleasure sprinkled bright |
35 |
| By simple singing of delight, |
|
| Shrill, irreflective, unrestrain’d, |
|
| Rapt, ringing, on the jet sustain’d |
|
| Without a break, without a fall, |
|
| Sweet-silvery, sheer lyrical, |
40 |
| Perennial, quavering up the chord |
|
| Like myriad dews of sunny sward |
|
| That trembling into fulness shine, |
|
| And sparkle dropping argentine; |
|
| Such wooing as the ear receives |
45 |
| From zephyr caught in choric leaves |
|
| Of aspens when their chattering net |
|
| Is flush’d to white with shivers wet; |
|
| And such the water-spirit’s chime |
|
| On mountain heights in morning’s prime, |
50 |
| Too freshly sweet to seem excess, |
|
| Too animate to need a stress; |
|
| But wider over many heads |
|
| The starry voice ascending spreads, |
|
| Awakening, as it waxes thin, |
55 |
| The best in us to him akin; |
|
| And every face to watch him rais’d, |
|
| Puts on the light of children prais’d, |
|
| So rich our human pleasure ripes |
|
| When sweetness on sincereness pipes, |
60 |
| Though nought be promis’d from the seas, |
|
| But only a soft-ruffling breeze |
|
| Sweep glittering on a still content, |
|
| Serenity in ravishment. |
|
|
| For singing till his heaven fills, |
65 |
| ’T is love of earth that he instils, |
|
| And ever winging up and up, |
|
| Our valley is his golden cup, |
|
| And he the wine which overflows |
|
| To lift us with him as he goes: |
70 |
| The woods and brooks, the sheep and kine |
|
| He is, the hills, the human line, |
|
| The meadows green, the fallows brown, |
|
| The dreams of labor in the town; |
|
| He sings the sap, the quicken’d veins; |
75 |
| The wedding song of sun and rains |
|
| He is, the dance of children, thanks |
|
| Of sowers, shout of primrose-banks, |
|
| And eye of violets while they breathe; |
|
| All these the circling song will wreathe, |
80 |
| And you shall hear the herb and tree, |
|
| The better heart of men shall see, |
|
| Shall feel celestially, as long |
|
| As you crave nothing save the song. |
|
| Was never voice of ours could say |
85 |
| Our inmost in the sweetest way, |
|
| Like yonder voice aloft, and link |
|
| All hearers in the song they drink: |
|
| Our wisdom speaks from failing blood, |
|
| Our passion is too full in flood, |
90 |
| We want the key of his wild note |
|
| Of truthful in a tuneful throat, |
|
| The song seraphically free |
|
| Of taint of personality, |
|
| So pure that it salutes the suns |
95 |
| The voice of one for millions, |
|
| In whom the millions rejoice |
|
| For giving their one spirit voice. |
|
|
| Yet men have we, whom we revere, |
|
| Now names, and men still housing here, |
100 |
| Whose lives, by many a battle-dint |
|
| Defaced, and grinding wheels on flint, |
|
| Yield substance, though they sing not, sweet |
|
| For song our highest heaven to greet: |
|
| Whom heavenly singing gives us new, |
105 |
| Enspheres them brilliant in our blue, |
|
| From firmest base to farthest leap, |
|
| Because their love of Earth is deep, |
|
| And they are warriors in accord |
|
| With life to serve and pass reward, |
110 |
| So touching purest and so heard |
|
| In the brain’s reflex of yon bird; |
|
| Wherefore their soul in me, or mine, |
|
| Through self-forgetfulness divine, |
|
| In them, that song aloft maintains, |
115 |
| To fill the sky and thrill the plains |
|
| With showerings drawn from human stores, |
|
| As he to silence nearer soars, |
|
| Extends the world at wings and dome, |
|
| More spacious making more our home, |
120 |
| Till lost on his aërial rings |
|
| In light, and then the fancy sings. |
Once Was Now 
http://youtu.be/6Cyw3foWTyo From Austin’s uncle, Craig