The poet breathes and lives the song he makes. He owns a heart that moves by lonely lakes where wild things are, where wind-whipped waves come in To tumble on the pebbles. Hill and linn To him are things intangible, yet real; Rude in the only beauty that can steal Across the heart before he is aware. He cannot see -- yet knows that it is there. He wraps his heart around the silent song And walks in sunlit morning all day long. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A POET'S FANCIES: 8. THE MODERN POET; A SONG OF DERIVATIONS by ALICE MEYNELL KITTY NEIL by JOHN FRANCIS WALLER EXTEMPORE EFFUSION UPON THE DEATH OF JAMES HOGG by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH THE ROAD TO APPENZELL by HENRY GLASSFORD BELL PROVERBS 25, SELECTION by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE |