Hark! The loon calls ere the sun has climbed
Its morning tower; and the insects wake
Like fairies swimming to their temple spires,
Each pine and maple bower but an arm
Out to the boundless, cloudy blue above
My empty head --- and yet, I leave unsaid
That thing which seems to permeate it all,
A vague remembrance of some clearer vision
Through eyes of one far wiser than myself,
And yet, still me in some recess of Life.
I leave it all unsaid, for there is not
A word which may recall it to my head,
That holy Dream! All words remain but gleams
Upon reflective waters of the mind,
Unable yet to behold the whole truth
Of even little branches of the pine
That stands so timelessly under the sun.
These words, though, looming formlessly before
The Mind's so silent eye, do subtle work:
The fruit of all the labors of the Bards
Has flowered ageless as a shining song,
Inspired throng of voices since the Dawn,
An ineffable monologue of Man
That sings in whispers on the lapping lake,
Or in the silence of the passing clouds,
Those massive, blooming ships! The Earth pours forth
Her song in Man, and Man, his song through her;
And though my words may capture not the truth
Of all my dreamy longings for a past
I cannot hold, if I but give my song
To Earth, she will return it to the stream,
The golden stream of ancient supplications,
Bardic incantations of holy mind,
The voiceless monologue outside all time
That falls in rain amidst the shine of day,
Still bright!
And so, I gaze across the lake
To banks of trees full-bodied in the sun,
And feel but one true Life within my heart
Extend unto the Universe's edge
(past even that), and listen to the song
That speaks to me in clouds of light above,
Those massive, blooming ships that carry me
Back to the holy place from whence I came,
The selfsame prophecy of ancient Man
Made new this moment by my very breath.
I soon forget the vain toil of meaning
That oft so burdens thoughts of mine each day,
And so resolve to let the sunlight play
Thus upon my face, forever.
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