  I would be dumb before the evening star, And no light word should stir upon my lips For autumn dusks where dying embers are, For evening seas and slow, returning ships. I would be hushed before the face I love, Rising in star-like quiet close to mine, Lest all the beauty thought is dreaming of Be rudely shaken and be spilled like wine. For present loveliness there is no speech, A word may wrong a flower or a face, And stars that swim beyond our stuttering reach Are safer in some golden, silent place.... Only when these are broken, or pass by, Wonder and worship speak ... or sing ... or cry. |
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