THOUGH the winds but stir on their hoary thrones <br />Of hemlock and pungent pine, <br />All the whispering woodland tones <br />Gossip of things divine, — <br />Why God is gray in the granite rock, <br />And green in the lichen flake, <br />And swift in the darting swallow-flock, <br />And slow in the lapping lake; <br />Why God is sweet in the hermit-thrush, <br />And hoarse in the frog; and why <br />His touch on the bee is golden plush, <br />And gauze on the stinging fly; <br />Why God is life in the mushroom there, <br />And death in the toadstool here; <br />Mirth in the dancing maidenhair; <br />In its hidden adder, fear. <br />Oh, if this berry that stains my lip <br />Could teach me the woodland chat, <br />Science would bow to my scholarship, <br />And Theology doff the hat.<br /><br />Katharine Lee Bates<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/eavesdropping-2/
