Marks of wanton hunger,

The shadow of the blackbird.

 

With lifted head,

I resist, 

Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear,

 

The blackbird whistling,

Laughing the stormy, husky, brawling laughter,

Stuff'd with the stuff that is coarse and stuff'd with the stuff that is fine,

 
Just like moons and like suns,

I am of old and young, of the foolish as much as the wise,

A man and a woman and a blackbird,

Singing so proud to be alive.