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. Somewhere
2. Days That Come and Go
3. The Parting of Ilmar and Haadin
4. At a Grave
5. Lincoln

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