Explore "The Under-Tone" by Ella Wheeler Wilcox on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
In the dull, dim dawn of day I heard / The twitter and thrill of a brown-backed bird, / As he sat and sang in the leafless tree, / A herald of beautiful days to be.
But the minor running under the strain / Went to my heart with a sudden pain, / For never so sad a sound I heard / As the troubled thrill of the brown-backed bird.
Not in the wearisome wash of waves, / With moaning murmur of wrecks and graves, / Not in the weird winds' wildest wail, / Not in the roar of the rushing gale.
Not in the sob of dying years / Are sounds so solemn and full of tears. / O herald of days that are green and glad, / Why was your morning song so sad?
Have you a secret hidden away, / Of sorrow to come with a coming day? / Folded under a folded leaf, / Lies there trouble and bitter grief?
The shadow of death, and tears, and gloom / Coming to me when roses bloom? / Will the beautiful days I long for so / Hold like your song a strain of woe?
What is the secret you hide from me / O herald of days that are to be? / And why was that desolate minor moan / Lurking under your gladdest tone?