 | Jones Very : The Complete Poems |  |
The Voice In The Poplars
A spirit in the tree top breathes,
Familiar to my ear;
I hear a sound amid'st its leaves,
My childhood loved to hear;
Familiar to my ear;
I hear a sound amid'st its leaves,
My childhood loved to hear;
A rustling in the poplar tall,
Which bends with every blast;
So to my soul its murmurings call,
From out the silent past!
Which bends with every blast;
So to my soul its murmurings call,
From out the silent past!
They tell in many an answering tone,
As in my childhood's hour,
Of things, to gross, dull minds unknown,
Of a mysterious Power;
As in my childhood's hour,
Of things, to gross, dull minds unknown,
Of a mysterious Power;
That with the soul, by speechless things,
Doth often converse hold;
And lessons to the spirit brings,
Which books have never told.
Doth often converse hold;
And lessons to the spirit brings,
Which books have never told.
For, written on each tree that grows,
The story of its birth;
When perfect from God's hand it rose
Upon the new made earth.
The story of its birth;
When perfect from God's hand it rose
Upon the new made earth.
And when the stormy wind doth move,
Or gentle zephyr fan;
It telleth still of Eden's grove
To listening ear of man.
Or gentle zephyr fan;
It telleth still of Eden's grove
To listening ear of man.
Poem No. 20; c. 13 August 1859
| Jones Very : The Complete Poems | |