Ecstatic bird songs pound the hollow vastness of the sky with metallic clinkings— beating color up into it at a far edge—beating it, beating it with rising, triumphant ardor,— stirring it into warmth, quickening in it a spreading change,— bursting wildly against it as dividing the horizon, a heavy sun lifts himself—is lifted— bit by bit above the edge of things,—runs free at last out into the open—! lumbering glorified in full release upward— songs cease.