I listen to the stillness of you,
My dear, among it all;
I feel your silence touch my words as I talk
And hold them in thrall.

My words fly off a forge
The length of a spark;
I see the silence easily sip them
Up in the dark.

The lark sings loud and glad,
Yet I am not loth
That silence should take the song and the bird
And lose them both.

A train goes roaring south,
The steam-flag flowing;
I see the stealthy shadow of silence
Alongside going.

And off the forge of the world
Whirling in the draught of life
Go myriad sparks of people, filling
The night with strife.

Yet they never change the darkness
Nor blench it with noise;
Alone on the perfect silence
The stars are buoys.
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