Larks sang up in the morning sky,
Wild flowers shone in the dew:
The joy that dwells at the heart of things
The birds and the wild flowers knew.
The sea-waves broke on a lonely shore,
The wind went over the trees:
The sorrow that dwells at the heart of things
Was known to the winds and seas.
The sorrow borne on the wind’s song
The note of a bird made sweet;
And the broken song of the breaking waves
Seemed written in blue and golden staves
In the flowers that grew at our feet.
Secrets hid from the flowers of the field
In the wandering wind we heard;
And the stars of gold and the bells of blue
Of the wild flowers, gave us again the clue
That we missed in the song of the bird.
And something the winds and seas forgot
And the wild flowers left untold
Lay dim in the rose of the twilight sky
And shone in the starlight’s gold.
For the meaning that dwells in all things,
The story of every heart,
Is the same,--the infinite story of all
Whereof each telleth a part:--
Tidings mightier, graver,
Than a single voice can utter,
Too deep and solemn a secret
To sleep in a single breast;
But the voice of each makes truer
The voices of all the rest;
And each repeats of the story
The part that it loves the best.