I hear not, I see not; but feel the sweet swinging
And swaying of metre, in sunlight and shade,
The still arch of Space with such music is ringing
As never an audible orchestra made.
The moments glide by me, and each one is dancing;
Aquiver with life is each leaf on the tree,
And out on the ocean is movement entrancing,
As billow with billow goes racing with glee.

With never a thought that is worthy the saying,
And never a theme to be put into song,
Since early this morning my mind has been straying,
A vagabond thing, with a vagabond throng,
With gay, idle moments, and waves of the ocean,
With winds and with sunbeams, and tree-tops and birds,
It has lilted along in the joy of mere motion,
To songs without music and verse without words.



MY FLOWER ROOM



My Flower Room is such a little place,
Scarce twenty feet by nine; yet in that space
I have met God; yea, many a radiant hour
Have talked with Him, the All-Embracing-Cause,
About His laws.
And He has shown me, in each vine and flower