To Heaven, Inclining Poem by james watkin
To Heaven, Inclining
When woke of sound, praiseful song-burst
Through undisguised sun-shining
To that far country's native tongue
Heaven's, through birds, inclining.
Wondrous consoles, closer bent! Now
Window-drawn, for girl and boy.
Golden-impressed, for what's heard in
Skip-a-song's innocent joy.
Sunday, September 15, 2019
Topic(s) of this poem: sound
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7/27/2025 4:15:24 PM # 1.0.0
