xvii.
The rose is silent, and the lily dumb
For Man alone. He sees them when they come
Glad from the soil; but what they mean thereby,
And what they dream of, when they front the sky,
Eludes his learning. But the birds can tell.
Moths talk to flowers; and breezes in the dell
Hear more confessions than we men reveal;
And oaks and cedars love each other well.