The land is silent, and the moon Is slowly rising; the long jar Of wheels on rails all afternoon Is past, and stars and stillness are. As from the darkness of the couch I turn my wakeful eyes, and gaze Thro' lonely panes, I could avouch That earth and man, and nights and days, Are lost and gained, that all are one: The low-heard speeding of the train, The cloud-swept moon, the stars that run, The heart's assumptions and its pain. |