Classic Poem

Another day upsprings;
Now sings
The lifted city shaken in the wings
Of drifting night;
Voices in things
I hear, and sound in Sight:
Sight hath the sound that most doth God delight.

Dark swallows wheeling in a dome of white
Are sounds in flight,
Weaving their nets of music where the Sun
Delays to climb his height:
A guided song
Of hungry notes in throng
Fanning through gold to feed on things of air;
And now the sky is bare,
Like music done, each one
Mounts and is borne
To float in pastures lost of liquid morn.
From pier to spire
Swings the awakened fire:
Shafts of strange sun, unwonted shadows thrown,
Change every stone;
Each edge
Facet and roof and ledge
Burns to a choir, and each
Hath pulse of speech;
The loud illumined walls lift horns of praise,
The half-lit ways
And chasms cool are dewy flutes soft-blown
To harmonies unknown.

O Listener to the Stone,
What mute is here, what tuneless chord put by,
That I, alone,
Intent on the heard image long and long
Hearken, and have no song?