Poems of Madison Cawein Vol. 3 — Unheard

All things are wrought of melody, Unheard, yet full of speaking spells;

Within the rock, within the tree, A soul of music dwells.

A mute symphonic sense that thrills The silent frame of mortal things;

Its heart beats in the ancient hills, And in each flow’r sings.

To harmony all growth is set-- Each seed is but a music mote, 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 bars to the rain.

The trees are pæans; and the grass One long green fugue beneath the sun-- Song is their life; and all shall pass, Shall end, when song is done.