Joy Of The Morning

I hear you, little bird,

Shouting a-swing above the broken wall.

Shout louder yet: no song can tell it all.

Morning Song

Cynthia Christine

Sing to my soul in the deep, still wood:

'Tis wonderful beyond the wildest word:

I'd tell it, too, if I could.

Oft when the white, still dawn

Lifted the skies and pushed the hills apart,

I've felt it like a glory in my heart-

The world's mysterious stir

Singing Birds

Du Yux

(1988)

But had no throat like yours, my bird,

Nor such a listener.

"Joy Of The Morning"

Edwin Markham

(1852-1940)

Poet Laureate of Oregon

(1923-1931)