large/11091/among_the_trees_again_1609_librivox_64kb_mp3/trees_02_stein_64kb_7
large/11091/among_the_trees_again_1609_librivox_64kb_mp3/trees_02_stein_64kb
English
11091
And so what wonder, Life, that you and I, Shut out from such glad confidence, should miss And grieve for this. SO WHAT WONDER LIFE THAT YOU AND I SHUT OUT FROM SUCH GLAD CONFIDENCE SHOULD MISS AND GRIEVE FOR THIS
ps pass, Harsh, strident echoes stricken out of stone; But never softened by green, growing grass, Or mellowed to faint, earthy undertone. And then, O heart, Did we not ofttimes feel ourselves apart, Alone, Wrought to vague discord by some touch unknown? Did we not weary with a nameless grief, In dreaming of tall clover, daisy sown, Or music blown From the wind-harping of some little leaf? It was not that within the city’s core There dwelt no sympathies, nor interests keen, No human ties to temper its fatigues. —’Twas only that we needed something more; Some note rang wrong; A foolish fancy, may be, but still strong, That life sang sweeter snatched between the green Close-lapping verdure of a fret of twigs. Where all the ground was paven out of sight, And only from a far-off strip of sky My mother Nature strove to speak to me, I could not harken to her voice aright; I knew not why, But ever to mine ears some whispering tree Seemed of the inmost golden soul of her, The best interpreter. NG TOO LONG WE HEARD STRANGE FOOTSTEPS PASS HARSH STRIDENT ECHOES STRICKEN OUT OF STONE BUT NEVER SOFTENED BY GREEN GROWING GRASS OR MELLOW TO FAINT EARTHY UNDERTONE AND THEN O HEART DID WE NOT OFTTIMES FEEL OURSELVES APART ALONE WROUGHT TO VAGUE DISCORD BY SOME TOUCH UNKNOWN DID WE NAW WEARY WITH A NAMELESS GRIEF IN DREAMING OF TALL CLOVER DAISY SONG OR MUSIC BLOWN FROM THE WIND HARPING OF SOME LITTLE LEAF IT WAS NOT THAT WITHIN THIS CITY'S CORE THERE DWELT NO SYMPATHIES NOR INTERESTS KEEN NO HUMAN TIES TO TEMPER ITS FATIGUES TWAS ONLY THAT WE NEEDED SOMETHING MORE SOME NOTE RANG WRONG A FOOLISH FANCY MAYBE BUT STILL STRONG THAT LIFE SANK SWEETER SNATCHED BETWEEN THE GREEN CLOSE LAPPING VERDURE OF A FRET OF TWIGS WHERE ALL THE GROUND WAS PAVEN OUT OF SIGHT AND ONLY FROM A FAR OFF STRIP OF SKY MY MOTHER NATURE STROVE TO SPEAK TO ME I COULD NOT HEARKEN TO HER VOICE ARIGHT I KNEW NOT WHY BUT EVER TO MY EARS SOME WHISPERING TREE SEEMED OF THE INMOST GOLDEN SOUL OF HER THE BEST INTERPRETER
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