I KNOW not but in every leaf
— That sprang to life along with me,
Were written all the joy and grief
— Thenceforth my fate to be.

The wind that whispered to the earth,
— The bird that sang its earliest lay,
The flower that blossomed at my birth —
— My kinsmen all were they.

Ay, but for fellowship with these
— I had not been — nay, might not be;
Nor they but vagrant melodies
— Till harmonized by me.