A Reed by the River/Youth

by Virginia Woodward Cloud

YOUTH

Out of the heart there flew a little singing birdPast the dawn and the dew, where leaves of morning stirred,And the heart which followed on, said; "Though the bird be flownWhich sang in the dew and the dawn, the song is still my own."

Over the foot-worn track, over the rock and thorn,The tired heart looked back to the olive leaves of morn,To the fair lost fields again, and said; "I hear it! Oh, hark!"—Though the bird were long since slain, though the song had died in the dark.