Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE WORLD RUNS ROUND (FOR ANNIVERSARY OF OVERLAND MAGAZINE), by EDWARD ROWLAND SILL Poet's Biography First Line: The world runs round Last Line: And the world runs well. Alternate Author Name(s): Hedbrooke, Andrew Subject(s): Overland Magazine (periodical) | ||||||||
THE world runs round, And the world runs well; And at heaven's bound, Weaving what the hours shall tell Of the future way, Sit the great Norns, sisters gray. Now a thread of doom and hate, Now a skein of life and love, -- Whether hearing shriek or psalm, Hearts that curse or pray, Most composed and very calm Is their weaving, soon and late. One man's noisy years go by, Rich to the crowd's shallow eye, Full of big and empty sound, Brandished gesture, voice profound, Blustering benevolence, Thin in deeds and poor in pence. Out of it all, so loud and long, What one thread that's clean and strong To weave the coming good, Can the great Norns find? But where some poor child stood, And shrank, and wept its faultiness, Out of that little life so blind The great web takes a golden strand That shall shine and that shall stand The whole wide world to bless. One man walks in silk: Honey and milk Flow through his days. Corn loads his wains, He hath all men's praise, He sees his heart's desire. In all his veins What can the sorrowful Norns Find of heroic fire? Another finds his ways All blocked and barred Lonely, he grapples hard, Sets teeth and bleeds. Then the glad Norns Know he succeeds, With victory wrought Greater than he sought. When will the world believe Force is for him that is met and fought: Storm hath no song till the pine resists; Lightning no flame when it runs as it lists; So do the wise Norns weave. The world runs round, And the world runs well: It needs no prophet, when evil is found, Good to foretell. Many the voices Ruffling the air: This one rejoices, That in despair Past the sky-bars Climbs to the stars. One voice is heard By the ocean's shore, Speaking a word Quiet and sane, Amid the human rush and roar Like a robin's song in the rain. The red gold of the sun Seems to stream in power Already from behind the shower When that song's begun. It doth not insist, or claim; You may hear, or go: It clamors not for gain or fame, Tranquilly and slow It speaketh unafraid, Calls the spade, spade, With the large sense mature Of him that hath both sat and roved, And with a solemn undercurrent pure, As his that now hath lived and loved. Brightened with glimpse and gleam Of mother-wit -- There is more salt in it, More germ and sperm Of the great things to be, Than louder notes men speak and sing. It is a voice of Spring, Clear and firm. Tones prophetic in it flow, Steady and strong, Yet soft and low -- An excellent thing in song. "I can wait," saith merry Spring; If the rain runneth, and the wind hummeth, And the mount at morn be hoar with snow, In the frost the violet dozes, Wind and rain bear breath of roses, And the great summer cometh Wherein all things shall gayly bloom and grow. Long may the voice be found, Potent its spell, While the world runs round, And the world runs well. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A PRAYER by EDWARD ROWLAND SILL AMONG THE REDWOODS by EDWARD ROWLAND SILL OPPORTUNITY by EDWARD ROWLAND SILL THE FOOL'S PRAYER by EDWARD ROWLAND SILL A BAKER'S DUZZEN UV WIZE SAWZ by EDWARD ROWLAND SILL A BIRD'S SONG by EDWARD ROWLAND SILL A CALIFORNIAN'S DREAMS by EDWARD ROWLAND SILL A CHILD AND A STAR by EDWARD ROWLAND SILL A DAILY MIRACLE by EDWARD ROWLAND SILL |
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