by John Vance Cheney
To-day I stretch me on the shadowed grass,
And hear my heart say yet again to me,
" Fly with the birds, and let the spent world be.
Float, float, " it says, " with lightest things that pass,
Leap with the gauze-winged vaulters; glass to glass,
Drink with the bees; go with the gentle throng
Deep ever, lost, in revel sweet and long,
The nearest, happiest children Nature has. "
And once again I quit the wanton round
Of mockery, straight betake me to the ground.
Wherever a green blade looks up,
A leaf lisps mystery,
Whereso a blossom holds its cup
A mist rings land or sea,
Wherever voice doth utter sound
Or silence make her round, —
There worship; it is holy ground.
Last updated September 07, 2017