Explore "A Vagabond Mind" by Ella Wheeler Wilcox on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Since early this morning the world has seemed surging / With unworded rhythm, and rhyme without thought. / It may be the Muses take this way of urging / The patience and pains by which poems are wrought. / It may be some singer who passed into glory, / With songs all unfinished, is lingering near / And trying to tell me the rest of the story, / Which I am too dull of perception to hear.
I hear not, I see not; but feel the sweet swinging / And swaying of metre, in sunlight and shade, / The still arch of Space with such music is ringing / As never an audible orchestra made. / The moments glide by me, and each one is dancing; / Aquiver with life is each leaf on the tree, / And out on the ocean is movement entrancing, / As billow with billow goes racing with glee.