Songs of the Spirit

SONNET. THE woods are very quiet, and the stream Hardly awakes the stilled ear with its word ; The voice of wind above like dawn is heard, And all the air moves up, a sultry steam, Here in the flower-land, where I lie and dream And understand the silence of the bird ; My sorrow and my weakness are interred In the deep water where the pebbles gleam. I rouse the force persistent of my will To compel matter to the soul’s desire, To make Heaven aid the mind that would aspire To touch its borders, and to drink their fill At those far fountains whence one drop of dew Descends upon my head from yonder blue. 26