Wampum and Old Gold

"Though my hands have not learned to model

The dreams of a groping mind,

Though my lips have not spoken their music

And are leaving no songs behind,

Think not that my life has been futile,

Nor grieve for an unsaid word,

For all that my lips might never sing

My singing heart has heard.


"I have etched the light on a willow

With neither a plate nor style;

I have made a song of the crescent moon

And a poem of only a smile;

Are they less because lips could not know them,

These songs that my heart has known?

Am I wholly mute who have sung with my heart

And sung with my heart alone?"