I listen to the stillness of you,
 My dear, among it all; 
I feel your silence touch my words as I talk,
 And take them in thrall. 
 
My words fly off a forge
 The length of a spark; 
I see the night-sky 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 flying; 
I see the stealthy shadow of silence
 Alongside going. 
 
And off the forge of the world, 
 Whirling in the draught of life, 
Go sparks of myriad people, filling
 The night with strife.
 
Yet they never change the darkness
 Or blench it with noise; 
Alone on the perfect silence 
 The stars are buoys.