The Choir of Day

Thou hearest the Nightingale begin the Song of Spring;

The lark sitting upon his earthy bed, just as the morn
Appears, listens silent, then springing from the waving Corn-field, loud
He leads the Choir of Day--
Mounting upon the wing of light into the Great Expanse,
Re-echoing against the lovely blue and shining heavenly Shell,

His little throat labours with inspiration, every feather
On throat and breast and wings vibrates with the effluence Divine.
All nature listens silent to him, and the awful Sun
Stands still upon the Mountain looking on this little Bird
With eyes of soft humility and wonder, love, and awe.
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