D.H. Lawrence (1885–1930). Amores. 1916.
35. Listening
I
My dear, among it all;
I feel your silence touch my words as I talk,
And take them in thrall.
The length of a spark;
I see the night-sky easily sip them
Up in the dark.
Yet I am not loth
That silence should take the song and the bird
And lose them both.
The steam-flag flying;
I see the stealthy shadow of silence
Alongside going.
Whirling in the draught of life,
Go sparks of myriad people, filling
The night with strife.
Or blench it with noise;
Alone on the perfect silence
The stars are buoys.