In the midst of the tintinnabulation and hurly-burly I see a silence overflowing with absence of all but Thee and me. I seek an interior place of listening to the divine where even the unspoken, but thought, words of prayer shatter silence.
Nature is never spent;
There lives the dearest freshness
in deep down things;
And though the last
lights off the
black West went
Oh, morning,
at the brown brink
eastward, springs . . .
Because the Holy Ghost
over the bent
world broods
with warm breast
and with ah!
bright wings.