The air is full of a witchery, silent, unfelt, and unseen; Yet it touches the black pine woods, and they flash to a riot of green; It breathes on the diffident birches, and lo! they are dancing in white, And it paints on the slopes of the barren fields a picture of delight. I do not know what the magic is, but I think I have seen the same In a quiet life, a transparent life, and the world knows not her name; But, herself unnoted, a touch, a breath, where the sad and the sullen were, And the dark is light, and the gloom is bright, at the very thought of her. I do not know what the magic is that dwells in her quickening face, No book have I to the witchery that wraps her around with grace; But this I know, be it mirth or woe, where her blessed feet have trod, There widens out in the hearts of men the beautiful peace of God. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE GOLDEN CORPSE by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET THE SOCIOLOGY OF TOYOTAS AND JADE CHRYSANTHEMUMS by HAYDEN CARRUTH A MAN'S VOCATION IS NOBODY'S BUSINESS by JAMES GALVIN MY HAPPINESS by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON TO AN EARLY DAFFODIL; SONNET by AMY LOWELL |