I hear a rainbird singing
Far off. How fine and clear
His plaintive voice comes ringing
With rapture to the ear!
Over the misty wood-lots,
Across the first spring heat,
Comes the enchanted cadence,
So clear, so solemn-sweet.
How often I have hearkened
To that high pealing strain
Across wild cedar barrens,
Under the soft gray rain!
How often I have wondered,
And longed in vain to know
The source of that enchantment,
That touch of human woe!
O brother, who first taught thee
To haunt the teeming spring
With that sad mortal wisdom
Which only age can bring?