I WASTED a morning! Where? And why? I let swift hours go silently by, As I lay at the foot of an ancient tree, And let God's universe talk to me. Wind and shadow, cloud and bird, Spoke each to my heart a musical word. The little brown cone that fell on my cheek, The squirrel who mocked with an impudent squeak, The golden mushroom brimmed with death, The twin-flower blessing the air with its breath; Old spider spinning above my head A magical dream with her rainbow thread; The liliput vases of moss below; The sudden caw of a picket crow; The rhythmical green of a supple snake Quivering into a lair of brake; The grumbling bee, the whispering pine -- What need had they for a word of mine? They lived the poem; they wove the spell No tongue could utter, no phrases tell; And a human voice could but disgrace The eloquent stillness of the place. So I lay at the foot of the ancient tree, And let God's free verse sing to me. |