430 GRAY LADY AND THE BIRDS 
He sings to the dawning day. 
Over and over and over, the thrilling strain: 
Never more clear 
On love-tuned ear 
Burst forth love’s charmed refrain. 
Hark, hark, listen and hear! 
The robin’s whistle, the oriole’s note, 
Both are drowned 
In the golden sound 
That pours from the perfect throat. 
Sing, spirit of might, 
Bird of beauty and tune, — 
Sable-winged as a summer’s night, 
With the red-rose breast as soft, as bright 
As a rose-red dawn in June! 
Sing, sing to the rippling light, 
Sing to the paling moon! 
Sing, sing, sing 
Of a joy beyond our ken, 
Till the burdens of manhood loose their hold, 
And the heart grows young, and the Age of Gold 
Rolls back on the souls of men. 
— Dora Reap GoopDALs, in Youth’s Companion. 
