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Wild
Garden
by
Bliss Carman
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THE
LORD OF RHYTHM
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As
the wind’s breath in the evening stirs among
the summer trees,
Moves the soul of all things sentient to creative mysteries.
As
the voice of falling water fills the deep of noon with
sound,
In the waiting heart a whisper wakes to trouble the
profound.
When
the great pines lift the plain-song of their deep-toned
symphonies,
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And
the fluttering aspens follow with their treble
on the breeze;
When
the sea-tides set their chorus surging on the granite
shore,
And the rain’s torrential silver makes street
music at the door;
Who
but feels the mighty Maestro trying every reed
and string,
As we vibrate to his rhythms, swept by their eternal
swing!
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When the colors change before us in the paling afterglow,
When the shifting northern streamers march across the
midnight snow,
When the green and mauve of April flush the reawakening
world,
When the gold and scarlet trappings of October
are unfurled,
When the new moon in the hemlock hangs, for an
immortal sign
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Light
shall cease not in her season from revealing the
divine,
We
behold how the supernal Glory-maker still outpours
Stains of Paradisal splendor on the pageant at
our doors.
Soul,
hast thou not marks of kinship,—gladness, dignity,
and grace,—
Signets from the Lord of Rhythm which attest the
heavenly trace! |
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Light of eye and lift of spirit, magic of the living word,
These are man’s unfailing witness of his heritage—of
his Lord. |
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