Wild Garden

by Bliss Carman




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,


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!


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


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!


Light of eye and lift of spirit, magic of the living word,
These are man’s unfailing witness of his heritage—of his Lord.