The New Day. Part 4. 12. “My Songs Are All of Thee, What Tho' I Sing”

My songs are all of thee, what tho' I sing
⁠ Of morning when the stars are yet in sight,
⁠Of evening, or the melancholy night,
⁠ Of birds that o'er the reddening waters wing;
Of song, of fire, of winds, or mists that cling
⁠To mountain-tops, of winter all in white,
⁠Of rivers that toward ocean take their flight,
⁠ Of summer when the rose is blossoming.
I think no thought that is not thine, no breath
⁠ Of life I breathe beyond thy sanctity;
⁠ Thou art the voice that silence uttereth,
And of all sound thou art the sense. From thee
⁠ The music of my song, and what it saith
⁠Is but the beat of thy heart, throbbed through me.