PERHAPS IF WE KNEW
AN oak-tree sighed, "O Life, if I could sing
As the pine-tree sings of the epic sea!
But this mere voiceless murmuring—
To men, what can it be?"
As the pine-tree sings of the epic sea!
But this mere voiceless murmuring—
To men, what can it be?"
A wandering poet, passing by,
Heard the lifting leaves a-sigh;
Of subtly-scented air
His soul became aware,
And memory waked and saw through tears,
The gentle joys of earlier years;
Out of a full heart flowing, then,
Came a comforting song to sorrowing men.
Heard the lifting leaves a-sigh;
Of subtly-scented air
His soul became aware,
And memory waked and saw through tears,
The gentle joys of earlier years;
Out of a full heart flowing, then,
Came a comforting song to sorrowing men.
And thou, because no lyric frees thy soul to men,
In æolian harping like the voice of pines,—
Thou mournest? Perhaps some word of thine, dropped when
A weary spirit passes by, defines
The path of joy and beauty through the wilderness
And thee—he knows not whom—he turns to bless.
In æolian harping like the voice of pines,—
Thou mournest? Perhaps some word of thine, dropped when
A weary spirit passes by, defines
The path of joy and beauty through the wilderness
And thee—he knows not whom—he turns to bless.