Rejoice with clappings of their myriad hands!

And shall not I believe, too, and adore,

With such wide proof?—Yea, though my soul perceives

No evident presence, still it understands.

III

And for a while it moves me to lie down

Here on the spot his god-head sanctified:

Mayhap some dream he dreamed may lingert brown

And young as joy, around the forestside;

Some dream within whose heart lives no disdain

For such as I whose love is sweet and sane;

That may repeat, so none but I may hear—

As one might tell a pearl-strung rosary—

Some epic that the trees have learned to croon,

[6] 

Some lyric whispered in the wild-flower's ear,

Whose murmurous lines are sung by bird and bee,

And all the insects of the night and noon.

IV

For, all around me, upon field and hill,

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