II

Lo, with the ancient Roots of man's nature, Twines the eternal Passion of song.

Ever Love fans it, Ever Life feeds it, Time cannot age it; Death cannot slay.

Deep in the world-heart Stand its foundations, Tangled with all things, Twin-made with all.

Nay, what is Nature's Self, but an endless Strife toward music, Euphony, rhyme?

Trees in their blooming, Tides in their flowing, Stars in their circling, Tremble with song.

God on His throne is Eldest of poets: Unto His measures Moveth the Whole.