It always seemed to her, her whole life through,
There was a song that only she could sing
Waiting a little way beyond the blue
Clear air of evening gentled by the wing
Of one white bird, a little way beyond
The haze that lay forever on her hills;
A song to which men’s spirits must respond,
Forgetting, for a little, all their ills.
The song was always there, but when she tried
To voice its words and melody, it fell
Dull on her ears, and all the wonder died.
If it was bane or bliss, she could not tell,
To hear not far away, her whole life long,
Faint whispers of an uncreated song.
–From In Green Pastures (written in 1948?)