 | Jones Very : The Complete Poems |  |
215
The Birth-Day of the Soul
The birth-day of the Soul how sweet its dawn!It comes to me, and yet for all it is;
Upon the skies its colored form is drawn,
The green earth says 'tis hers, the sea 'tis his;
The voice of feathered tribes thick-swarming tell
The day is born to fields and waiting grove,
The meadow's song and forest's rising swell
Are heard by gladsome winds that o'er them rove.
'Tis music all;—but higher song than these
Bears witness also to the day's glad birth;
They but the ear of sense a moment please;
The song I hear is not of sense, or earth;
But such as waiting angels joyful sing,
When from its wanderings home a soul they bring.
Poem No. 465; early 1840?
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