Classic Poem

From the world beyond my window blind
A wandering thought drifts down,
And still within my fallow mind—
A seed of song—'t is sown.

O urge of life, thy wind-blown seeds.
Strange fruits may bear unto men's needs.

O many men have thought this thought,
And many lips have striven
To utter it, and hands have sought
To shape it as 't was given.

And some have builded it in stone,
With it some sail the seas,
And some have sung it all alone
(And I am one of these).

And some have caught and held it fast,
Then felt its need for flight;
Now it has come to me at last,
I sing it through the night.

I do but sing it to my soul
That other souls may know,
And, starless, thus their dark console—
Then let it, singing, go.

O Urge of Life, thy wind-blown seeds
Strange fruits may bear unto men's needs.