Harriet Monroe

NOISES that strive to tear

Earth’s mantle soft of air

And break upon the stillness where it dwells:

The noise of battle and the noise of prayer,

The cooing noise of love that softly tells

Joy’s brevity, the brazen noise of laughter—

All these affront me not, nor echo after

Through the long memories.

They may not enter the deep chamber where

Forever silence is.

Silence more soft than spring hides in the ground

Beneath her budding flowers;

Silence more rich than ever was the sound

Of harps through long warm hours.

It’s like a hidden vastness, even as though

Great suns might there beat out their measures slow,

Nor break the hush mightier than they.

There do I dwell eternally,

There where no thought may follow me,

Nor stillest dreams whose pinions plume the way.