The sparrow cheeps from dawn till night,
Then sleeps till cometh on new light.
No sparrow I, who any hour
Gives empty page my lyric power.
There silently my song lies still
Till eyes take in and mind gives will
To lungs’ and tongue’s and lips’ control
And governed songs unloose the soul.
Then some will say, a poem when heard
Mayhap may match a cheeping bird,
But so he cheep (or could he sigh),
He would not match a winging “I”.
All nature’s sounds are not more fair,
And not more deep, or high, or rare,
Than thought and word and speech of man
Who follows through the best he can
To lay aloud his reasoned choice
And with winged art complete his voice.