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    by D.H. Lawrence
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    I listed to the stillness of you,
    My dear, among it all;
    I feel your silence touch my words as I talk,
    And take them in thrall.

    My words fly off a forge
    The length of a spark;
    I see the night-sky easily sip them
    Up in the dark.

    The lark sings loud and glad,
    Yet I am not loth
    That silence should take the song and the bird
    And lose them both.

    A train goes roaring south,
    The steam-flag flying;
    I see the stealthy shadow of silence
    Alongside going.

    And off the forge of the world,
    Whirling in the draught of life,
    Go sparks of myriad people, filling
    The night with strife.

    Yet they never change the darkness
    Or blench it with noise;
    Alone on the perfect silence
    The stars are buoys.
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