by Robert Laurence Binyon
No sound in all the mountains, all the sky!
Yet hush! one delicate sound, minutely clear,
Makes the immense Silence draw more near,--
Some secret ripple of running water, shy
As a delight that hides from alien eye:
And the encircling mountains seem an ear
Only for this; the still clouds hang to hear
All music in a sound small as a sigh.
Far below rises to the horizon rim
The silent sea. Above, those gray clouds pile;
But through them tremblingly escape, like bloom,
Like buds of beams, for sleepy mile on mile,
Wellings of light, as if heaven had not room
For the hidden glory and must overbrim.
Last updated January 14, 2019