Richard Watson Gilder

The New Day. Part 4. 12. “My Songs Are All of Thee, What Tho' I Sing”

My songs are all of thee, what tho' I sing
⁠     Of morning when the stars are yet in sight,
     ⁠Of evening, or the melancholy night,
⁠     Of birds that o'er the reddening waters wing;
Of song, of fire, of winds, or mists that cling
     ⁠To mountain-tops, of winter all in white,
     ⁠Of rivers that toward ocean take their flight,
⁠     Of summer when the rose is blossoming.
I think no thought that is not thine, no breath
⁠     Of life I breathe beyond thy sanctity;
⁠     Thou art the voice that silence uttereth,
And of all sound thou art the sense. From thee
⁠     The music of my song, and what it saith
     ⁠Is but the beat of thy heart, throbbed through me.