The bluebird sings her sweet refrain
That echoes through the glade;
While rain drips softly from the leaves,
In nature’s serenade.

The brook, it laughs among the stones,
And plays with all the trees;
Their songs together in the dusk,
Float on the gentle breeze.

From woodland paths to fragrant lanes,
In harmony they roll;
While twilight dances on the plains —
The spirit sings its goal.

• Joyce Kilmer