I find within the whispering wood No sign of fairy, pard, or elf; A holier mystery moves the blood, I hear God talking to Himself. Like breath that flows and ebbs, like sighs Of wordless deep intense delight, I hear the sacred monodies God utters to Himself at night. "O happy, happy things that move, O happy birds that fly or nest, Contented with a little love And thankful for a little rest! What I have made is very good, Good every tiniest thing that walks!" Even so amid the whispering wood Within Himself God broods and talks. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...IN A MYRTLE SHADE by WILLIAM BLAKE BALLAD OF HECTOR IN HADES by EDWIN MUIR A LITTLE SONG OF LIFE by LIZETTE WOODWORTH REESE MOONLIGHT by MARGUERITE ATTERBURY SONNETS OF MANHOOD: 2. THE FLOWER ASLEEP by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) |