Explore "Inspiration" by Annie Fellows Johnston on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
THE singer walks by wood and rill, / By town and stately river, / And varied scenes his vision fill, / And make his pulses quiver.
But when his song comes borne across / On winds from dreamland blowing, / We cannot tell what mystic touch / Has set his chimes a-going.
We hear the robins in his rhyme, / We see the orchards drifted / With crests of bloom that glimmer white / When mists of tears are lifted.
A hundred tunes seem intertwined / To mingle in his singing, / When but a single rose, perhaps, / Has set his fancy winging.