George Edward Woodberry: The Secret
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The Secret

1855-1930


Nightingales warble about it,
         All night under blossom and star;
The wild swan is dying without it,
         And the eagle crieth afar;
The sun he doth mount but to find it,
         Searching the green earth o'er;
But more doth a man's heart mind it,
         Oh, more, more, more!

Over the gray leagues of ocean
         The infinite yearneth alone;
The forests with wandering emotion
         The thing they know not intone;
Creation arose but to see it,
         A million lamps in the blue;
But a lover he shall be it
         If one sweet maid is true.


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DayPoems Poem No. 1155



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The DayPoems web site, www.daypoems.net, is copyright 2001-2005 by Timothy K. Bovee. All rights reserved.

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