Song

A bird in my bower
Sat calling, a-calling;
A bird answered low from the garden afar.
His note came with power,
While falling, a-falling,
Her note quivered faint as the light of a star.
“I am Life! I am Life!”
From the bower a-ringing,
Trilled forth a mad melody, soaring above;
“I am Love! I am Love!”
From the garden a-singing,
Came soft as a dream, and the echoes sang “Love.”

They joined, and together
Fast flying, a-flying,
Were lost to my gaze in the arch of the sky.
The wind through the heather
Is sighing, a-sighing;
Ah! how should it ever do other than sigh?
Where art thou, where art thou,
Life, flying, a-flying?
Where art thou, O Love, sweetest child of the dawn?
The song in the meadow
Is dying, a-dying;
My heart groweth heavy, and whispereth—“Gone.”