John Vance Cheney

I pour into the world the eternal streams
Wan prophets tent beside, and dream their dreams.

I pour into the world the eternal streams
Wan prophets tent beside, and dream their dreams.

Holding occasion by the hand,
Not over nice 'twixt weed and flower,
Waiving what none can understand,
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Holding occasion by the hand,
Not over nice 'twixt weed and flower,
Waiving what none can understand,
I make mine hour.

No command of art,
No toil, can help you hear;
Earth's minstrelsy falls clear
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No command of art,
No toil, can help you hear;
Earth's minstrelsy falls clear
But on the listening heart.

A breath, whence no man knows,
Swaying the grating weeds, it blows;
It comes, it grieves, it read more

A breath, whence no man knows,
Swaying the grating weeds, it blows;
It comes, it grieves, it goes.
Once it rocked the summer rose.

I question not if thrushes sing,
If roses load the air;
Beyond my heart I need not read more

I question not if thrushes sing,
If roses load the air;
Beyond my heart I need not reach
When all is summer there.