I heard the spring whisper Above the brushwood fire, The world is made forever of tansport and desire. "I am the breath of being, the primal urge of things; I am the whirl of star dust, I am the lift of wings. I am the splended impulse that comes before thought, The joy and exaltation Where in the lift is caught. Across the sleeping furrows I call the buried seed, And blade and bud and blossom awaken at my need. Within the dying ashes I blow the sacred spark, And make the hearts of lovers To leap against the dark." The first stanza of a poem called Earth Voices. I do not know who wrote it. If you do please let me know. thank you for looking.