 | Jones Very : The Complete Poems |  |
202
The Silent
There is a sighing in the wood,
A murmur in the beating wave,
The heart has never understood
To tell in words the thoughts they gave.
A murmur in the beating wave,
The heart has never understood
To tell in words the thoughts they gave.
Yet oft it feels an answering tone,
When wandering on the lonely shore;
And could the lips its voice make known,
'Twould sound as does the ocean's roar.
When wandering on the lonely shore;
And could the lips its voice make known,
'Twould sound as does the ocean's roar.
And oft beneath the wind swept pine,
Some chord is struck the strain to swell;
Nor sounds nor language can define,
'Tis not for words or sounds to tell.
Some chord is struck the strain to swell;
Nor sounds nor language can define,
'Tis not for words or sounds to tell.
'Tis all unheard; that Silent Voice,
Whose goings forth, unknown to all,
Bids bending reed and bird rejoice,
And fills with music nature's hall.
Whose goings forth, unknown to all,
Bids bending reed and bird rejoice,
And fills with music nature's hall.
And in the speechless human heart
It speaks, where'er man's feet have trod;
Beyond the lip's deceitful art,
To tell of Him, the Unseen God.
It speaks, where'er man's feet have trod;
Beyond the lip's deceitful art,
To tell of Him, the Unseen God.
Poem No. 614; late 1839
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