Classic Poem

I.

Rich is the scent of clover in the air,
And from the woodbine, moonlight and the dew
Draw finer essence than the daylight knew;
Low murmurs and an incense everywhere!
Who spoke? Ah! surely in the garden there
A subtile sound came from the purple crew
That mount wistaria masts, and there's a clue
Of some strange meaning in the rose-scent rare:
Silence itself has voice in these June nights —
Who spoke? Why, all the air is full of speech
Of God's own choir, all singing various parts;
Be quiet and listen: hear — the very lights
In yonder town, the waving of the beech,
The maples' shades, — cry of the Heart of hearts!

II.

On such a night spoke raptured Juliet
From out the balcon; and young Rosalind,
Wandered in Arden like the April wind;
And Jessica the bold Lorenzo met;
And Perdita her silvered lilies set
In some quaint vase, to scent the Prince's mind
With thoughts of her; and then did Jaques find
Sad tales, and from them bitter sayings get.
To all of these the silence sang their thought;
To all of these it gave their thought new grace:
Soprano of the lily, roses' lone
And passionate contralto, oak boughs' bass —
All sing the thought we bring them, be it fraught
With the sad love of lovers, or God's own.

III.

This sweetness and this silence fill my soul
With longing and dull pain, that seem to break
Some cord within my heart, and sudden take
Life out of life; and then there sounds the roll
Of wheels upon the road, the distant toll
Of bells within the town: these rude things make
Life wake to life; and all the longings shake
Their airy wings, — swift fly the pain and dole.
Again the silence and the mute sounds sweet
Begin their speaking; I alone am still
What are you singing, O you starry flowers
Upon the jasmine? — " Void and incomplete. "
And you, clematis? — " Void the joys that fill
The heart of love until His Heart is ours. "

IV.

O choir of silence, without noise of word!
A human voice would break the mystic spell
Of wavering shades and sounds; the lily bell
Here at my feet sings melodies unheard;
And clearer than the voice of any bird, —
Yes, even than that lark which loves so well,
Hid in the hedges, all the world to tell
In trill and triple notes that May has stirred.
" O Love complete! " soft sings the mignonette;
" O Heart of All! " deep sighs the red, red rose;
" O Heart of Christ! " the lily voices meet
In fugue on fugue; and from the flag-edged, wet,
Lush borders of the lake, the night wind blows
The tenor of the reeds — " Love, love complete! "