I cry "One further joy, before return! With love aside, what else is there to yearn?" With stride and muscles limber, I streak past The sapling green, marking my record last. The air is sweet, as pure as season gives, I taste of sweat; my breast new-fired, lives And burns delightfully. I race erect, And statuesque. I pause a moment to inspect My rippling form, and glance upward. The sky Had never seemed as clear, to clearer eye. A flock of birds across the expanse plays, The air filling with melody. In daze, I blink, and look upon the path ahead. What follows can barely by words be said. The trees, a panoply of green and gold, Gave setting lush, glorious to behold, To the loveliest music ears had heard: A voice so perfect, I at first demurred, And thought it exhaustion's fantasy. But no, It still remained, and sang from high to low, Its voice stronger than deepest-throated yell. But it sang with such a gentleness, as well, To grasp it truly, one needs must compound An angel's horn with newborn's coo. The sound I first faint heard, and sought to reach, A sentiment my body would impeach; For, as I realized, I would soon succumb, Since sinews, unlike brains, are not struck dumb. I staggered back, my feet and face red, glowing Contented with a secret beyond knowing. In the time I had stood hearing, passing brief, I left much to uncertainty. In chief, I did not know what sublime words were sung As I entranced, the grove of trees among, Had labored so to capture that singer. ( I saw not the source's gender, either.) If you're inclined my memory to fault, And take my account with a grain of salt, Think on how well your recollections age: A decade past does not ease to the page. So now you learn my first love's beginning: That from this clouded throat, a Voice will sing.