Explore "The Crow" by Virna Sheard on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Hail, little herald! -- Art thou then returning / From summer lands, this wild and wind-torn day? / Hast brought the word for which our hearts are yearning, / That spring is on the way? / Hark! Now there comes a clear, insistent calling,
From hill tops crested with untarnished snow; / The trumpet notes are drifting -- floating -- falling -- / Whene'er the breezes blow!