Poem by John Vance Cheney

* * *

Wherever a green blade looks up,
A leaf lisps mystery,
Whereso a blossom holds its cup
A mist rings land or sea,
Wherever voice doth utter sound
Or silence make her round—
There worship; it is holy ground.

1. At a Grave
2. Coyote
3. Lincoln
4. One
5. Evening Songs

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