Parable
Wide as the world is, music abounds,Time has a legion of lovely soundsFrom the soonest blackbird to latest beeThat murmurs along his honeying rounds; Surpassing those, one anthem is sweet As ever the message of Paraclete, When the kiss of Spring Says all must sing And the host of secrets are bright on the wing.Then the willow, that last in the moon stood numb,Finds its Apollo-vesture come,And, waiting on zephyr-sense so long,Communes its sudden vein of songTill on to the white and blue sereneOne willow sings from a hamlet green.
Long are the sighs that lull the sleepOf breathing youngness in such new hours.Breezes are come to dance the flowersBut from what deep,What siren shores!Such nights, the moon's $till self can stirThe feathery spray of this one tree,And allure the least to tune with her—She sways these leaves that sways the sea.
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