O EARTH! thou hast not any wind that blows Which is not music; every weed of thine Pressed rightly flows in aromatic wine; And every humble hedgerow flower that grows, And every little brown bird that doth sing, Hath something greater than itself, and bears A living Word to every living thing, Albeit it hold the Message unawares. All shapes and sounds have something which is not Of them: a Spirit broods amid the grass; Vague outlines of the Everlasting Thought Lie in the melting shadows as they pass; The touch of an Eternal Presence thrills The fringes of the sunsets and the hills. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A POEM FROM THE EDGE OF AMERICA by JAMES GALVIN FOR OUR BETTER GRACES by JAMES GALVIN WE CAN'T WRITE OURSELVES INTO ETERNAL LIFE by DAVID IGNATOW CREDO by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE TEMPTRESS by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON CORPORATE ENTITY by ARCHIBALD MACLEISH |