As I have walked in Alabama my morning walk, I have seen where the she-bird, the mocking-bird, sat on her nest in the briars, hatching her brood. I have seen the he-bird also; I have paused to hear him, near at hand, inflating his throat, and joyfully singing. And while I paused, it came to me that what he really sang for was not there only, Nor for his mate nor himself only, nor all sent back by the echoes; But subtle, clandestine, away beyond, A charge transmitted, and gift occult, for those being born.
