Music is in all growing things;
And underneath the silky wings
Of smallest insects there is stirred
A pulse of air that must be heard.
Earth's silence lives, and throbs, and sings.
If poet from the vibrant strings
Of his poor heart a measure flings,
Laugh not, that he no trumpet blows:
It may be that Heaven hears and knows
His language of low listenings.
Music Of Growth
George Parsons Lathrop
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Poem topics: heart, heaven, music, poor, silence, earth, laugh, language, poet, measure, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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