Praise
A POEM
Oh endless pattern in the trees.
You weave a world for me
Of endless beauty, endless art,
Of endless mystery.
You are a symphony, a stage,
A master’s work of art.
You have no words, still all you say
Lies deepest in my heart.
Oh God, Your hand is everywhere —
Your stroke against the sky
Outlines a joy that breaks my heart
And begs my spirit fly.
It beckons me and beckons me
And wounds me with its glee,
And I will worship You, Great God,
’Til moons shall part the sea.
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Paradoxical in the Extreme
Evidently a man of coarse, even slovenly, personal habits, Auden was as meticulous as T.S. Eliot in the precision of his verse.