Black shadows fall br From the lindens tall, br That lift aloft their massive wall br Against the southern sky; br br And from the realms br Of the shadowy elms br A tide-like darkness overwhelm br The fields that round us lie. br br But the night is fair, br And everywhere br A warm, soft vapor fills the air, br And distant sounds seem near; br br And above, in the light br Of the star-lit night, br Swift birds of passage wing their flight br Through the dewy atmosphere. br br I hear the beat br Of their pinions fleet, br As from the land of snow and sleet br They seek a southern lea. br br I hear the cry br Of their voices high br Falling dreamily through the sky, br But their forms I cannot see. br br Oh, say not so! br Those sounds that flow br In murmurs of delight and woe br Come not from wings of birds. br br They are the throngs br Of the poet's songs, br Murmurs of pleasures, and pains, and wrongs, br The sound of winged words. br br This is the cry br Of souls, that high br On toiling, beating pinions, fly, br Seeking a warmer clime. br br From their distant flight br Through realms of light br It falls into our world of night, br With the murmuring sound of rhyme.