Earth lies a violin to my bow:
And as I rush,
A thousand shapes of music grow
Out of the hush.
The leaping flame within me draws,
As it shoots lone,
Between each throbbing pause and pause.
Tone upon tone.
Strange orchestrated sounds unroll
From waiting woods;
And as my passion thrills the soul
Of solitudes,
I hear a far-off rapture sweep
Me as I pass;
Loud waters dying in the deep,
Low sighs of grass;
Long echoes rolling to the ridge,
Or valley green;
The different notes of tunnel, bridge,
Or cleft ravine;
The fury of neglected stations—
A shrieking wind
Shrill with a million execrations
Of hag or fiend;
The murmurous silence when I stop,
Live with the noise
Of water drowsing drop by drop
Or human voice.
A little pause, and off I go…
My simple art
Touches to music with my bow
Earth’s silent heart.