The fire of your still loveliness, the tender High fortitude of the spirit shining through. And the world was young. Age is the hour for praise, Praise that is joy, praise that is acquiescence, Praise that is adoration and gratitude For all that has been given and not been given.
Night flows on.
The wind, that all night through Quickened the treetops with a breath of ocean, Veers inland, falls away, and the sea's voice, Learned in lost childhood, a remembered music, By day or night, through love, through sleep, through dream, Still breathing its perpetual benediction, Has dwindled to a sigh. By the west window, In the soft dark the leaves of the sycamore Stir gently, rustle, and are still, are listening To a silence that is music.