Eavesdropping

THOUGH the winds but stir on their hoary thrones

Of hemlock and pungent pine,

All the whispering woodland tones

Gossip of things divine, —

Why God is gray in the granite rock,

And green in the lichen flake,

And swift in the darting swallow-flock,

And slow in the lapping lake;

Why God is sweet in the hermit-thrush,

And hoarse in the frog; and why

His touch on the bee is golden plush,

And gauze on the stinging fly;

Why God is life in the mushroom there,

And death in the toadstool here;

Mirth in the dancing maidenhair;

In its hidden adder, fear.

Oh, if this berry that stains my lip

Could teach me the woodland chat,

Science would bow to my scholarship,

And Theology doff the hat.