Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, INTERPRETATION, by LOUIS JONES MAGEE


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

INTERPRETATION, by                    
First Line: What we hear in the voice of the stream
Last Line: Keep telling just what we are waiting to hear.
Subject(s): Poetry & Poets


WHAT we hear in the voice of the stream and the sea;
What we learn from the stars, what the meaning can be
Of the notes that we get from their song in the sky;
If the wind in the wood is a laugh or a sigh, --
Depends on the kind of heart we bring
To catch what they all have to say and sing.
We change, and they have something different to say, --
Something sad in the past, something glad for to-day;
And, proud if she find but a listening ear,
Nature tells us the thing we are willing to hear.

You remember the thicket behind the old mill
In the park, -- just a bit that's original still
In the midst of the statues and fountains and all,
'Midst the art and precision that only recall
Things one tries to forget, city sights, city noise?
Well! there in that tangle there's always a voice.
Yes, trees that must grow in a civilized way --
Planes, maples, and elms -- all have plenty to say
When I listen to them; but the bushes know best
If I'm needing encouragement, counsel, or rest.

As I heard them once in the splendor of June,
They said: "Old friend, you are out of tune.
You trying to sing! If you understood
The poetry of this tiny wood!
If you with your world-dimmed eyes could see
The life, and the love, and the harmony
That hide in our shade the whole day long,
Then perhaps you also could make such a song."
(And a blackbird sang in the flood of June;
He mocked me for being out of tune.)
In the face of an autumn wind to-day
I showed a little woman the way
To my bushes again; and they laughed and shook
Their yellow leaves, and shouted: "Look!
There is the man who was out of tune;
He always came here alone in June;
But now he has learnt, and now he knows
What keeps us glad when November blows."

Some others who walked in the forest there
Shivered perhaps in the chilly air,
They said the wind moaned in the pines overhead,
And thought that our laughing leaves were dead.

So buds that are green and leaves that are sere
Keep telling just what we are waiting to hear.





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