Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.
To a Golden-Crowned ThrushRichard Hunt
H
Up like a song gone somersaulting,
Up like a dream to the white moon vaulting,
I hear your liquid voice exult.
Like trees, and ripple on like brooks;
The magic of the wild wood-nooks
You shake out through the silver sky.
With secrets that the woodlands tell
That you must hurtle from the dell,
And up, so all the air shall know?
Gone tumbling up the night of June?
Is that your form against the moon,
That trembles, palpitates and melts?
Like one last challenge wildly pour …
And then you float to earth once more—
Unseen, as dreams and silence float.