 | Poems by William W. Story |  |
[XXXI. Nature will ne'er repeat; whatever she creates]
Nature will ne'er repeat; whatever she creates
An individual is; she never imitates.
An individual is; she never imitates.
Each life she separate makes, whate'er its class may be,
And men are tones whose chord we call society.
And men are tones whose chord we call society.
What thou hast done is fair—perchance for thee the best;
But yet there is for me a different behest.
But yet there is for me a different behest.
We drill all thoughts and acts to Fashion's monotone,
But various Nature still abhors a unison.
But various Nature still abhors a unison.
With her wide-ranging hand she modulates the keys,
From seeming discord builds progressive harmonies.
From seeming discord builds progressive harmonies.
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If we refuse the tone, that God to each has given,
The symphony is marred that earth plays unto heaven.
The symphony is marred that earth plays unto heaven.
| Poems by William W. Story | |