The Soul Of The Poet Poem by Annie Adams Fields

UPON the storm-swept beach brown broken weeds
Lay scattered far abroad, and as he saw
The wild, disordered strand, 'Behold the law,'
He cried, 'of my sad mind and her dread needs.'
But as he wandered there, those fruitless seeds
Were trampled by his feet while quiet lay
His spirit on the waves, and joined their play
Round a far rock where safe the sea-bird breeds;
And then he knew, not like the strand forlorn,
But like the sea his soul her color drew
From heaven, and all the splendors of the morn
And greater glories that with ripeness grew
Were his, and his the calm the evening knew,
And every grace that out of heaven is born.