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SILENCES, by                    
First Line: So like a shadow you lived
Last Line: Have come such ghostly hands, came such a ghostly head.


So like a shadow you lived. Nor would you come
Quickly in the afternoon,
But always with the white moon,
Always when the moon was on the purple plum,
When the last blue shadow rested -- you would come.

But now the moon is come to the slender trees
For starved months; and the slow pain
Is like a beggar's plaint, is like his melodies
Raised to a bitter god. Yea, nothing now can please

My lips, my eyes, or my sad, restless bed.
Nothing but your white hands,
Your eyes -- the burnished lands
Set there. . . . No, never to the Dead
Have come such ghostly hands, came such a ghostly head.





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