Classic Poem

Three veils of Silence, Summer draws apace.
The noon-tide Peace that broods on hill and dale,
That passes o'er the sea and leaves no trace,
That sleeps in the moveless clouds' moveless trail:

The wave of colour deepening day by day.
The yellow grown to purple on the leas,
Blue within there beyond the dusky ways;
A green-gloom dusk within the grass-green trees.

The third veil no man sees. She weaves it where
Beneath the fret and fume tired hearts aspire
And long for some divine impossible air.
Out of Man's heart she weaves this veil of Rest —
Sweet anodyne for all the feverish quest
And ache of inarticulate Desire.