I find within the whispering wood No sign of fairy, pard, or elf; A holier mystery moves the blood, I hear God talking to Himself. Like breath that flows and ebbs, like sighs Of wordless deep intense delight, I hear the sacred monodies God utters to Himself at night. "O happy, happy things that move, O happy birds that fly or nest, Contented with a little love And thankful for a little rest! What I have made is very good, Good every tiniest thing that walks!" Even so amid the whispering wood Within Himself God broods and talks. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MARIANNA ALCOFORANDO by SARA TEASDALE MERLIN'S PROPHESY by WILLIAM BLAKE TO WORDSWORTH by FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS THE DAYS GONE BY by JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY A TRIP TO PARIS AND BELGIUM: 16. ANTWERP TO GHENT by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI THE CONQUERED BANNER by ABRAM JOSEPH RYAN IF WE KNEW; OR, BLESSINGS OF TO-DAY by MAY LOUISE RILEY SMITH |