Classic Poem

What is astir where the shadows are dense?
Something that baffles the curious sense;
Something that shimmers, and whispers, and sighs;
Something that glimmers to far-reaching eyes;
The Shape of a song, or the Soul of a stream,
Or a Being awake from a beautiful dream,
Is pulsing, and stirring, and making prelude,
In the reverent heart of the reverent wood.

Is it a word that I never have heard?
Is it a hint of a jubilant bird
That never was hinted before?
Oh, what can it be that is new in the wood?
That thrills with its meaning, but half understood.
A rapture, and more?
A sound is created that never the breeze
Has carried till now through the city of trees:
Fresh tidings from God—a new message—is sent
Through I know not what delicate instrument.

And I would I had senses as fine as a sprite,
To hear and interpret the message aright:
But I think, oh I think, as I fall on my knees,
God is walking and talking again 'mid the trees.