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The rain had fallen; the Poet arose;
   He passed by the town, and out of the street.
A light wind blew from the gates of the sun,
   And waves of shadow went over the wheat,
And he set him down in a lonely place,
   And chanted a melody loud and sweet,
That made the wild-swan pause in her cloud,
   And the lark drop down at his feet.

The swallow stopt as he hunted the bee,
   The snake slipt under a spray,
The hawk stood with the down on his beak
   And stared, with his foot on the prey,
And the nightingale thought, "I have sung many songs,
   But never a one so gay,
For he sings of what the world will be
   When the years have died away."

This work was published before January 1, 1924, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.