Echo Poem by Thomas Odiorne
Echo
Lo! beyond the distant bog,
As the peasant chops a log—
Hark! the sound, in long suspense,
Cheats the stroke, and balks the sense;
But, expanding o'er the vale,
Or along some dingling dale,
Where, the hills and woods among,
Jovial rings the team-boy's song,
Echo, softlier than a bell,
Fills with noise her airy shell;
And, according to her laws,
Protracts the sound at every pause.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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4/19/2024 1:45:41 AM # 1.0.0.1119
