night.
149
III.
Darkness surrounds me with its phantom hosts,
Till silence is enchanted speech. I feel
Those half-spent airs that through the laurel reel,
And Night's loud heart-beats in the tropic coasts,—
And, soaring amid everlasting frosts,
To super-sensual rest, as it might outweigh
A whole world's strife, o'er me gaunt Himaleh
Droops his broad wing of calm.—Those peaks, ghosts
Outstaring Time, through darkness glimmering!
No rush of pinion there, nor bubbling low—
But death, and silence past imagining;—
Only, day in and out, with endless swing,
Their aged shadows move, and picture slow
One on another's unrelenting snow.
Till silence is enchanted speech. I feel
Those half-spent airs that through the laurel reel,
And Night's loud heart-beats in the tropic coasts,—
And, soaring amid everlasting frosts,
To super-sensual rest, as it might outweigh
A whole world's strife, o'er me gaunt Himaleh
Droops his broad wing of calm.—Those peaks, ghosts
Outstaring Time, through darkness glimmering!
No rush of pinion there, nor bubbling low—
But death, and silence past imagining;—
Only, day in and out, with endless swing,
Their aged shadows move, and picture slow
One on another's unrelenting snow.
