 | Sursum Corda |  |
78
A FAVOURITE OF NATURE.
Know'st thou the soul-reaching tongue
That shapes no words?
Heard'st thou what the blackbird sung,
And all the birds?
That shapes no words?
Heard'st thou what the blackbird sung,
And all the birds?
What the wind says canst thou hear?
And the low
Music of the tumbling weir
Dost thou know?
And the low
Music of the tumbling weir
Dost thou know?
If into thy soul thou take
What these things say,
On river and on field doth break
Immortal day.
What these things say,
On river and on field doth break
Immortal day.
79
Nor ask no poet, thou, to be
Interpreter;
For Nature's self doth talk with thee,
And thou with her!
Interpreter;
For Nature's self doth talk with thee,
And thou with her!
| Sursum Corda | |