English poem
The Wood Thrush III (O music maker of the pagan Spring)
by Bliss Carman
O music maker of the pagan Spring, Untrammeled seraph of the wilderness! How should he know the truth at beauty's core, Or solve the strange enigma of desire? For through those wild melodious cadences The tender phrase of earthly sorrow blends With the pure theme of spirit's certitude Grown rapturous above all taking thought, In that serene victorious artistry. For all the labored questing of our art, Who finds the sorcery of Nature's way, And how her free born wisdom works its will? Before this woodland canticle we bow, Knowing perfection ... immortality!
More by Bliss Carman
- The Winter Scene III (Russet and white and gray is the oak wood)
- The Winter Scene IV (When the day changed and the mad wind died down)
- The Wood Thrush I (When the May eve is soft with misty rain)
- The Wood Thrush II (Hark, from the twilit wood beyond the road)
- The Wood-God.
- The Word Of The Water
- The World Voice
- The Yule Guest