Posted by: W. E. Poplaski | January 23, 2009


by George Edward Woodberry (1855 – 1930).


The Secret


 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,            5

  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;                          10

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                                  15

  If one sweet maid is true.



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