Monday, May 20, 2013


All things are wrought of melody,
     Unheard, yet full of speaking spells:
Within the rock, within the tree,
     A soul of music dwells.
To harmony all growth is set;
     Each seed is but a music note,
From which each plant, each violet
     Evolves its purple note.
Compact of melody, the rose
    Woos the soft wind with strain on strain
Of crimson; and the lily blows
    Its white stars to the rain.
The trees are preans, and the grass
    One long, green fugue, beneath the SUR;
Song is his life, and all shall pass,
    Shall cease when song is done.
                                                                          . Madison Cawein.

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