A dreaming Poet lay upon the ground,
He plucked the grasses with his listless hands.
No voice was near him save the wishful sound
Of the sea cooing to the unbosomed sands.

He leaned his heart upon the naked sod.
He heard the audible pulse of nature beat.
He trembled greatly at the Word of God
Spoken in the rushes rustling at his feet.

With inward vision his outward sight grew dim,
He knew the rhythmic secret of the spheres,
He caught the cadence, and a noble hymn,
Swam swan-like in upon the gliding years.