THE SOUL OF MAN

In the soul of man there are many voices,

That silence wakens, and sound restrains:

A song of love, that the soul rejoices,

With windy music, and murmuring rains;

A song of light, when the dawn arises,

And earth lies shining, and wet with dew;

And life goes by, in a myriad guises,

Under a heaven of stainless blue.

The willows, bending over the river,

Where the water ripples between the reeds,

Where the shadows sway, and the pale lights quiver

On floating lily, and flowing weeds,

Have whispering voices, soft as showers

Of April falling on upland lawns,

On the nodding harebell, and pale wind-flowers,

Through silver evens, and golden dawns.

But softer than love, and deeper than longing

Are the sweet, frail voices of drifting ghosts;

In the soul of man they are floating, thronging

As wind-blown petals, pale, flickering hosts.