Ah, dreamy world and liquid-sounding leaves, Ah, skies that on your bosom bear the dawn And evening, and recurrent, trembling stars, Why are we strangers to your certain calm, Your joy, perennial and effortless? We strive to understand; our desperate faith Leans listening against the universe To catch some meaning, some deep harmony To still the throbbing silence that we hear. In vain, in vain! There is an inner music, But 'tis no serenade to please our ears. When the last human heart is underground, Great sunsets still will aureole the west, No whit less gorgeous for that they're unseen. And this divine frail moon will not delay Because her lovers' lips are yet more pale Than when her yearning parted them. Ah, no -- Not listeners we, but part, ourselves, of some Mysterious harmony, perhaps heard elsewhere. |