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That nested in their branches had a song
But soon there came a trouble in her joy, A cloud of doubt across her sky of trust, A note discordant that dissolved the chord And broke the bliss of hearing into pain. Not from the harsher sounds and voices wild Of anger and of anguish, that reveal The secret strife in nature, and confess "The touch of sorrow on the heart of life, From these her trouble came not. For in these, However sad, she felt the note of truth, And truth, though sad, is always musical. The raging of the tempest-ridden sea, The crash of thunder, and the hollow moan Of winds complaining round the mountain
crags ; The shrill and quavering cry of birds of prey, The fiercer voice of conflict-loving beasts, – All these wild sounds are potent in their place Within life's mighty symphony; the charm Of truth attunes them, and the hearing ear Finds pleasure in their rude sincerity. Even the broken and tumultuous noise That rises from great cities, where the heart Of human toil is beating heavily With ceaseless murmurs of the labouring pulse,
Is not a discord; for it speaks to life
Only one voice of all that sound on earth, -
The voices vain and decorous and smooth, That fill the world with empty-hearted talk And pass a worthless coin for gold, she heard.
passworms The foolish voices, wandering and confused,
but That cannot clearly speak the thing they would, But ramble blindly round their true intent And tangle sense in hopeless coils of sound, All these she heard, and with a sad mistrust Began to doubt the value of her gift. It seemed as if the world, the living world, Sincere, and deep, and real, were still concealed, Shut out by secret gates not yet unclosed, And she, within the prison of her soul, Still waiting silently to hear the voice Of perfect knowledge and of perfect peace.
So with the burden of her discontent
The meaning of the tide, and whence it comes, And where it flows.
Then Vera spoke to him: “Thy gift was great, dear Master, and my
heart Has thanked thee many times for that first
touch That made the bar of silence fall, and let The voices of all living things pass through The gates of hearing to my prisoned soul. But I have learned that hearing is not all (I need to make me understand the world. For underneath the speech of men, there flows Another current of their hidden thoughts. The messengers of sound have not revealed Life's secret to my heart; for oftentimes They bring a false report, in treachery; And oftentimes with vague and empty words They mock my longing to receive the truth. Behind the mask of language I perceive The eyes of things unuttered; and I feel The throbbing of the real heart of the world Beneath the robe of words. Touch me again, Dear Master, with thy liberating hand, And free me from the bondage of deceit.