O EARTH! thou hast not any wind that blows Which is not music; every weed of thine Pressed rightly flows in aromatic wine; And every humble hedgerow flower that grows, And every little brown bird that doth sing, Hath something greater than itself, and bears A living Word to every living thing, Albeit it hold the Message unawares. All shapes and sounds have something which is not Of them: a Spirit broods amid the grass; Vague outlines of the Everlasting Thought Lie in the melting shadows as they pass; The touch of an Eternal Presence thrills The fringes of the sunsets and the hills. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON A FLOWER FROM THE FIELD OF GRUTLI by FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS DIVINATION BY A DAFFADILL by ROBERT HERRICK MY BIRD by EMILY CHUBBUCK JUDSON THE BLUE-FLAG IN THE BOG by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY TRAVEL by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON MARE LIBERUM by HENRY VAN DYKE |