Richard Watson Gilder (Ричард Уотсон Гилдер)
The New Day. Part 4. 12. “My Songs Are All of Thee, What Tho’ I Sing”
My songs are all of thee, what tho' I sing Of morning when the stars are yet in sight, Of evening, or the melancholy night, Of birds that o'er the reddening waters wing; Of song, of fire, of winds, or mists that cling To mountain-tops, of winter all in white, Of rivers that toward ocean take their flight, Of summer when the rose is blossoming. I think no thought that is not thine, no breath Of life I breathe beyond thy sanctity; Thou art the voice that silence uttereth, And of all sound thou art the sense. From thee The music of my song, and what it saith Is but the beat of thy heart, throbbed through me.
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