The world is speaking to me this fair mom, lts voice is sweet and strong and manifold; It has a freshness as of one new born, It has a wisdom as of one grown old. And I would catch its faintest undertone, The dreamy murmur of this white lipped seat The browsing cattle with their shadows throwa To westward from the hillocks on the lea. That 8oftened outline of the morning bilis Against the shining of the eastern sky, The sunlit vapor which the hollows filis, The shadows which athwart the vapor lie. Ah, what can mean this manifold clear voice, Which speaks and waits my eager questioning? It seems at first to only say "Rejoice," Then comes a doubt it says some deeper thing.