The Golden Darkness/Spirit of All Things
SPIRIT OF ALL THINGS.
The faces on the avenue
Are living words that flit,
And some are keen, and some are harsh
And some are exquisite;
And there are wistful words, like dusk,
And words as glad as day,—
And yet I feel the simple thing
You find so hard to say.
Are living words that flit,
And some are keen, and some are harsh
And some are exquisite;
And there are wistful words, like dusk,
And words as glad as day,—
And yet I feel the simple thing
You find so hard to say.
O you whose great heart is the earth,
With clouds that move like fears,
With hills’ grey parted lips that chant
The silence through the years,—
How can you let these faces flit?
How can you let it be,
And use so many words to speak
Your heart’s simplicity?
With clouds that move like fears,
With hills’ grey parted lips that chant
The silence through the years,—
How can you let these faces flit?
How can you let it be,
And use so many words to speak
Your heart’s simplicity?