Page:The poems of Richard Watson Gilder, Gilder, 1908.djvu/112

84 Yes, 'twixt granite and mortar

Many songs, long or shorter,

Are imprisoned in the wall;

And when red leaves shall fall,—

Coming home, all in herds,

From the air to the earth,—

When I have my heart's desire,

And we sit by the hearth

In the glow of the fire,

You and I, John of Birds,

We shall hear as they call

From the gray granite wall;

You shall name one and all.

There's the crow's caw-cawing

From the pine-tree's hight,

And the cat-bird's sawing,

The hissing of the adder

That climbed the rock ladder,

And the song of Bob White;

The robin's loud clatter,

The chipmunk's chatter,

And the mellow-voiced bell

That the cuckoo strikes well;

Yes, betwixt the stones and in

There is built a merry din.

But not all bright and gay

Are the songs we shall hear;

For as day turns to gray

Comes a voice low and clear—

Whippoorwill sounds his wail

Over hill, over dale,

Till the soul fills with fright.