In man-made sounds affronts the sweet and clean,
But Nature's never.
Shout of the stormy winds, ever
Toneless and rude, tossing the trees,
The harsh scream of seabirds — these
As much as the wren's airy song.
Man only, the books tell, knows evil and wrong;
Even as art now the yelp and yell
Like music of hell,
Music made evil, the squawk and squall
When the disc jockeys loose the blare and bawl.
Give me the sounds God made so —
I love them all
Whether loud or low,
From the small, thin
Note of the bee's violin
To the rough sea's uproar,
In wild tumult tumbling upon the shore.