Philip Henry Savage
Philip Henry Savage Poems
Comments about Philip Henry Savage
THE sun is up, Great God, the sun is up,
High o'er the eastern hill among white clouds
Insufferable! I thank Thee for the call.
Deep in the Woodstock meadows on a morn
Pleasant it is to wander ere the sun
Has burned the dewdrops off the bending grass;
When each small area seems a world complete,
When every forest stem beneath the sun
Shoots out a light, and every meadow span
Is dowered with moving radiance; and the hills!
I had not known their power till I had seen,
Limned by the early morn, their mystic heads
White in the eastern circuit. From ...
Even In The City, I
Even in the city, I
Am ever conscious of the sky;
A portion of its frame no less
Than in the open wilderness.
The stars are in my heart by night;
I sing beneath the opening light,
As envious of the bird; I live
Upon the pavement, yet I give
My soul to every growing tree