Silence is a sounding thing
To one who listens hungrily.

I shall sing a lullaby
To the song I have made
Of your hair and eyes . . .
And you will never know
That deep in my heart
I shelter a song of you.

Oh, stir the lucid waters of thy sleep
And coin for me a tale
Of happy loves and gems and joyous limbs
And hearts where love is sweet!

Brushes and paints are all I have
To speak the music in my soul . . .

Some things are very dear to me --
Such things as flowers bathed by rain
Or patterns traced upon the sea
...
But dearer far than all surmise
Are sudden tear-drops in your eyes.