The Poet of Nature

Philip James Bailey (1816–1902)

From “Festus”

HE had no times of study, and no place;

All places and all times to him were one.

His soul was like the wind-harp, which he loved,

And sounded only when the spirit blew,

Sometime in feasts and follies, for he went

Lifelike through all things; and his thoughts then rose

Like sparkles in the bright wine, brighter still;

Sometimes in dreams, and then the shining words

Would wake him in the dark before his face.

All things talked thoughts to him. The sea went mad

To show his meaning; and the awful sun

Thundered his thoughts into him; and at night

The stars would whisper theirs, the moon sigh hers.