Echoes

The wind that calls me, gentle, Breathes of the solitude; It carries forth the echoes, Of nature’s kindest mood.

In every leaf that trembles, In every rush of air, Is music softly woven, Beyond the world’s despair.

So let me yield to whispers, That speak from dusk till dawn, For in the hush of beauty, We find what life has drawn.

• Lizette Woodworth Reese