English poem

He calls, and what men fancied dumb

He calls, and what men fancied dumb, Hills, groves, and lakes, and brooks, and stones, Answer him in a thousand tones, Till silence makes a joyous hum.

More by John Reade

Good Night, II
Good Night, III
Great Nature’s book he wisely reads
Hardly strange doth it seem that the Springtime refuseth…
He stands alone upon the deck
He stands alone upon the deck
He stands alone upon the deck
He takes the stage; he writes a play

All 144 poems by John Reade