Author Sara Teasdale Dreamily over the roofs The cold spring rain is falling; Out in the lonely tree A bird is calling, calling. Slowly over the earth The wings of night are falling; My heart like the bird in the tree Is calling, calling, calling. Rate this poem Select ratingGive it 1/5Give it 2/5Give it 3/5Give it 4/5Give it 5/5 Average: 4.3 (4 votes) Rate Log in or register to post comments