  NOT with the drums, the throbbing scarlet drums, Not with the voice of a silver flute, Not with the brazen clangour of cymbals, Nor the trumpets slitting the silence; Not with the maelstrom of sound Monstrous, prodigious, Comes ecstasy. But with stillness As when a flame burns unflickering In far, empty places; With the quiet of a leaf falling in the forest; With the hush of the elevation of the Host. |
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