Pursed lips on a syrinx at play.
So, ho! for the rose, the Romeo rose,
And the lyric it hides in its heart!
And, oh, for the epic the oak-tree knows,
Sonorous as Homer in art!
And it's ho! for the prose of the weed that grows
Green-writing Earth's commonest part!—
What God may propose let us learn of those,
The songs and the dreams that start
In the heart of each blossom that blows.