The Word

(All photos taken by Cassandra last week at her upstate New York farm)

The Word

by Richard Realf (1832-1878)

“O earth! Thou hast not any wind that blows

Which is not music; every week of thine

Pressed rightly flows in aromatic wine;

And every humble hedgerow flower that grows,

And every little brown bird that doth sing,

Hath something greater than itself, and bears

A living word to every living thing,

Albeit it holds the message unaware,

All shapes and sound have something which is not

Of them: a Spirit broods amid the grass;

Vague outlines of the Everlasting Thought

Lie in the melting shadows as they pass;

The touch of an Eternal Presence thrills

The fringes of the sunsets and the hills.”