To A Tawny Thrush

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Title:     To A Tawny Thrush
Author: Max Eastman [More Titles by Eastman]

Pine spirit!
Breath and voice of a wild glade!
In the wild forest near it,
In the cool hemlock or the leafy limb,
Whereunder
Thou didst run and wander
Thro' the sun and shade,
An elvish echo and a shadow dim,
There in the twilight thou dost lift thy song,
And give the stilly woods a silver tongue.
Out of what liquid is thy laughing made?
A sister of the water thou dost seem,
The quivering cataract thou singest near,
Whose glistening stream,
Unto the listening ear,
Thou dost outrun with thy cascade
Of music beautiful and swift and clear--
A joy unto the mournful forest given!
As when afar
A travelling star
Across our midnight races,
A moving gleam that quickly ceases,
Lost in the blue black abyss of heaven,
So doth thy light and silver singing
Start and thrill
The silence round thy piney hill,
Unto the sober hour a jewel bringing--
A mystery--a strain of rhythm fleeing--
A vagrant echo winging
Back to the unuttered theme of being!

[The end]
Max Eastman's poem: To A Tawny Thrush

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