Hear! Hear! Hear! Listen! The Word Of The Mocking-Bird! Hear! Hear! Hear! I Will Make All Clear; I Will Let You Know Where The Footfalls Go That Through The Thicket And Over The Hill Allure, Allure. How The Bird-Voice Cleaves Through The Weft Of Leaves With A Leap And A Thrill Like The Flash Of A Weaver'S Shuttle, Swift And Sudden And Sure! And La, He Is Gone--Even While I Turn The Wisdom Of His Runes To Learn. He Knows The Mystery Of The Wood, The Secret Of The Solitude; But He Will Not Tell, He Will Not Tell, For All He Promises So Well.