John Vance Cheney

I question not if thrushes sing,
If roses load the air;
Beyond my heart I need not read more

I question not if thrushes sing,
If roses load the air;
Beyond my heart I need not reach
When all is summer there.

A breath, whence no man knows,
Swaying the grating weeds, it blows;
It comes, it grieves, it read more

A breath, whence no man knows,
Swaying the grating weeds, it blows;
It comes, it grieves, it goes.
Once it rocked the summer rose.

No command of art,
No toil, can help you hear;
Earth's minstrelsy falls clear
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No command of art,
No toil, can help you hear;
Earth's minstrelsy falls clear
But on the listening heart.

I pour into the world the eternal streams
Wan prophets tent beside, and dream their dreams.

I pour into the world the eternal streams
Wan prophets tent beside, and dream their dreams.

The wind is awake, pretty leave, pretty leaves,
Heed not what he says, he deceives, he deceives;
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The wind is awake, pretty leave, pretty leaves,
Heed not what he says, he deceives, he deceives;
Over and over
To the lowly clover
He has lisped the same love (and forgotten it, too).
He will be lisping and pledging to you.