Classic Poem

On a stormy September morning,
When first I heard the song,
It echoed through the village streets,
As if from a mighty throng.

I caught it from the stable yard,
It sounded through my room,
I hastened up, threw on my gown,
As if wrapped in a magic swoon.

A big frog seemed to sing the bass,
Another sang the tenor,
While dozens rang the alto's part,
Hundreds led the soprano.

I stood there like some one amazed,
Till my brain began to tire,
From listening to this wonderous song
Sung by the woodland choir.