Page:Ballads of a Bohemian.djvu/153

Rh Then there’s the wonder of my Eyes, Where hills and houses, seas and skies, In waves of light converge and pass, And print themselves as on a glass. Line, form and color live in me; I am the Beauty that I see; Ah! I could write a book of size About the wonder of my Eyes.

What of the wonder of my Heart, That plays so faithfully its part? I hear it running sound and sweet; It does not seem to miss a beat; Between the cradle and the grave It never falters, stanch and brave. Alas! I wish I had the art To tell the wonder of my Heart.

Then oh! but how can I explain The wondrous wonder of my Brain? That marvelous machine that brings All consciousness of wonderings; That lets me from myself leap out And watch my body walk about; It’s hopeless–all my words are vain To tell the wonder of my Brain.

But do not think, O patient friend, Who reads these stanzas to the end, That I myself would glorify.…