Poems (Jackson)/The Way to sing

by Helen Hunt Jackson

THE WAY TO SING.

HE birds must know. Who wisely sings  Will sing as they;The common air has generous wings    Songs make their way.No messenger to run before,    Devising plan;No mention of the place or hour    To any man;No waiting till some sound betrays    A listening ear;No different voice, no new delays,    If steps draw near.

"What bird is that? Its song is good."    And eager eyesGo peering through the dusky wood,    In glad surprise.Then late at night, when by his fire    The traveller sits,Watching the flame grow brighter, higher,    The sweet song flits By snatches through his weary brain    To help him rest;When next he goes that road again,    An empty nestOn leafless bough will make him sigh,    "Ah me! last springJust here I heard, in passing by,    That rare bird sing!"

But while he sighs, remembering    How sweet the song,The little bird on tireless wing,    Is borne alongIn other air, and other men    With weary feet,On other roads, the simple strain    Are finding sweet.The birds must know. Who wisely sings    Will sing as they;The common air has generous wings,    Songs make their way.