The Voice of the Valley/I Hail Myself
I Hail Myself as I do Homer
The heart of God, the unpretending heaven, concealing the midnight stars in glassing the day of earth,
Showers his brooding love upon the green-crowned goddess, May Earth, in heart-lulling mirth.
O Poet, begin thy flight by singing of the hidden soul in vaporous harmony;
Startle the lazy noon drowsing in the full-flowing tide of the sunbeams nailing thy chants in Eternity!
The melody breathing peace in the name of Spring, calms tear to smile, envy to rest.
Ah thou, world of this day, sigh not of the poets who have deserted thee—aye, I hail myself as I do Homer!
Behold, a baby flower hymns the creation of the universe in the breeze, charming my soul as the lover-moon!
O Yone,—a ripple of the vanity-water, a raindrop from the vanity-cloud,—lay thy body under the sun-enameled shade of the trees
As a heathen idol in an untrodden path awakening in spirit sent by the unseen genius of the sphere!
The earth, a single-roomed hermitage for mortals, shows not unto me a door to Death on the joy-carpeted floor—
Aye, I call the once dead light of day from the dark-breasted slumber of night!—
I repose in the harmonious difference of the divine Sister and Brother,—Voice and Silence in Time.
O Yone, return to Nature in the woodland,—thy home, where Wisdom and Laughter entwine their arms!
Ah Cities, scorning the order of the world, ye plunder rest from night, paint day with snowy vice,—
Alas, the smoke-dragon obscures the light of God; the sky-measuring steeple speaks of discontent unto the Heaven!
O Yone, wander not city-ward—there thou art sentenced to veil thy tears with smiles!
Behold, the cloud hides the sins of the cities—regiments of redwood-giants guard the holy gates of the woodland against the shames!
Chant of Nature, O Yone,—sing thy destiny—hymn of darkness for the ivory-browed dawn—
Behold, the deathless Deity blesses thee in silence from the thousand temples of the stars above!
Showers his brooding love upon the green-crowned goddess, May Earth, in heart-lulling mirth.
O Poet, begin thy flight by singing of the hidden soul in vaporous harmony;
Startle the lazy noon drowsing in the full-flowing tide of the sunbeams nailing thy chants in Eternity!
The melody breathing peace in the name of Spring, calms tear to smile, envy to rest.
Ah thou, world of this day, sigh not of the poets who have deserted thee—aye, I hail myself as I do Homer!
Behold, a baby flower hymns the creation of the universe in the breeze, charming my soul as the lover-moon!
O Yone,—a ripple of the vanity-water, a raindrop from the vanity-cloud,—lay thy body under the sun-enameled shade of the trees
As a heathen idol in an untrodden path awakening in spirit sent by the unseen genius of the sphere!
The earth, a single-roomed hermitage for mortals, shows not unto me a door to Death on the joy-carpeted floor—
Aye, I call the once dead light of day from the dark-breasted slumber of night!—
I repose in the harmonious difference of the divine Sister and Brother,—Voice and Silence in Time.
O Yone, return to Nature in the woodland,—thy home, where Wisdom and Laughter entwine their arms!
Ah Cities, scorning the order of the world, ye plunder rest from night, paint day with snowy vice,—
Alas, the smoke-dragon obscures the light of God; the sky-measuring steeple speaks of discontent unto the Heaven!
O Yone, wander not city-ward—there thou art sentenced to veil thy tears with smiles!
Behold, the cloud hides the sins of the cities—regiments of redwood-giants guard the holy gates of the woodland against the shames!
Chant of Nature, O Yone,—sing thy destiny—hymn of darkness for the ivory-browed dawn—
Behold, the deathless Deity blesses thee in silence from the thousand temples of the stars above!