Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). An American Anthology, 1787–1900. 1900.

By Francis HowardWilliams

933 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.”