Classic Poem

I'm an inspector on my rounds
For what I can detect;
Forever, tireless, night and day,
Inspectors should inspect.
A spy, a spotter keen, am I,
Whose business 'tis to pry
Into the secrets of the earth,
The ocean, and the sky.
I'm out on my detective trail,
And work the whole year through,
And in my business hitherto
I've learned a thing or two.

Ah, there are mighty goings-on
Where mighty secrets lurk;
My business 'tis to hide myself,
And watch the whole thing work.
A few revealments from the sea,
A few, too, from the sky,
And many secrets from the stars
And from the winds have I.
And there are whisperings from the fields,
And tattlings from the mere;
And 'tis my trick to hide myself,
Keep still, and overhear.

And, do you know, a little flower
Has secrets to rehearse,
And tales of wonder from the soul
Of the great universe?
And, if you once could understand
The whisperings of the grass,
And muffled murmurs of the flags
That grow in the morass,
You'd hear the secret of the soul
That lives in earth and star,
And learn its inner mystery,
And know things as they are.

And, could a man go in the woods
And overhear the trees,
And hide himself within the cliffs
And listen to the seas,
And could authentically translate
The language of the brook,
He'd learn some thoughts not hitherto
Put down in any book.
Could he translate the mountain winds,
Their voices manifold,
He'd get some thoughts, perchance, too great
For any book to hold.

So, an inspector of the winds,
Detective of the sky,
Investigator of the brooks
And hills and woods, am I.
I have no shame to spy about
And listen far and near,
For Nature has no secret thought
That's bad for me to hear.
I seek the secret of the soul
That lives in earth and star,
To learn its inner mystery,
And know things as they are.