Page:Foliage, various poems.djvu/37



homeless man has heard thy voice,

Its sound doth move his memory deep;

He stares bewildered, as a man

That's shook by earthquake in his sleep.

Thy solemn voice doth bring to mind

The days that are forever gone:

Thou bringest to mind our early days,

Ere we made second homes or none.

Lark that in heaven dim

Can match a rainy hour

With his own music's shower,

Can make me sing like him—

Heigh ho! The rain!

Sing—when a Nightingale

Pours forth her own sweet soul

To hear dread thunder roll

Into a tearful tale—

Heigh ho! The rain!