The trees are standing silent in the sun Like priests of quietness. The river flows Its gentle way between its bushy banks, And seems the current of a peaceful dream. The bird-songs melt upon the placid air, And find a sweet solution. Hither floats A whiff of thistledown, as lightly borne As spirit upon spirit, as my soul, Afloat upon the brooding thought of God. How far away, how crudely strange and far, The very memory of earth's unrest, The crash of wills, the vehemence of greed, The blare of pride and groanings of despair! Here it is still and steady, quiet here Because so much of God is greatly here, So little of the littleness of man. The mind enlarges through the waiting woods, Expands amid the tree-tops, rises glad To wander on the galleys of the clouds Far over oceans of the upper blue To happy continents of love and light; Or, whimsically back withdrawn, it finds Another world low-hidden in the grass, A world of softest shadows, peopled full Of busy creatures, silent and serene. And yesterday I fretted! Yesterday, Nay, but an hour ago, I tore my heart With envy, sharp ambition, eating dread. O Thou Beneficence and Beauty, Thou, The Prince of Peace that rulest all in all, Forgive those tumults of Thy foolish child, And wrap me so about with quietness, So wrap around the central soul of me, That I may leave this pasture of Thy peace, And enter the world's discord bearing still The flawless armor of tranquillity. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO KNOW IN REVERIE THE ONLY PHENOMENOLOGY OF THE ABSOLUTE by HAYDEN CARRUTH THE ARCHITECT AT THE EDGE OF THE SEA by KAREN SWENSON THE BUNCH OF GRAPES by GEORGE HERBERT SIXTY-EIGHTH BIRTHDAY by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL THE FIGHT OF THE ARMSTRONG PRIVATEER by JAMES JEFFREY ROCHE BIOTHANATOS by JOSEPH BEAUMONT THE GOLDEN ODES OF PRE-ISLAMIC ARABIA: EL HARITH by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |