George Edward Woodberry: The Secret

The Secret

George Edward Woodberry

Nightingales warble about it,  All night under blossom and star; The wild swan is dying without it,  And the eagle crieth afar; The sun he doth mount but to find it,  Searching the green earth o'er; But more doth a man's heart mind it,  Oh, more, more, more!
Over the gray leagues of ocean  The infinite yearneth alone; The forests with wandering emotion  The thing they know not intone; Creation arose but to see it,  A million lamps in the blue; But a lover he shall be it  If one sweet maid is true.