Dominant shriek of whistles,
And the great, incessant avalanche of many noises ;
The scream of the forest giants when,
Torn from their mossy hiding.
They are laid on the carriage
And the great saws disembowel them.
The deafening hammering of the ship-yards.
The clamor of hammers upon anvils.
And from the sky-piercing buildings
The reverberant roll of the riveter.
The hoarse, strident calls of the cities ;
Shouts, cries, groans and curses.
POET: Behold how Nature in her elusive mantle. More hushed than Night, soft-trailing as the clouds, Goes, like a mother, to her perfect work. Gentle as sleep ; more comforting than death. She lifts the sea unto the mountain-tops, without a sound. And pours continually the everlasting urns. The rivers murmur as gods that dream. And the benignant mountains guard their slumber. Their heads are pillowed on Eternity, Their never-sleeping voices are soothing. Silence is the cloak to Beauty. Behold, also, the rain, the very wine of days. How noiselessly it seeks the slender roots, As a bride creepeth to her love ; And who has ever heard a cry or noise From the frail and thready roots which uplift the trees, Garnish the Earth with grass and spread abroad the
blazonry of flowers? The frail roots whose delicate fingers distill Earth's
miracle Of nectared fruits and never make a sound. Man's condition is clamor, din and noise, But Nature has laid her finger on her lips ;
"3
