Beauty is silent: birds
when tongueless and dumb, won
over to stillness from words,
know, songs have been sung
and done, and beauty remains
alone. Days may be dun
and days may be wastes of pain
and despair. Silence is fair
and free of sin's stain,
since in silence lives repair,
since in silence time's no more,
and in silence wives are fair;
since in silence hearts adore
mysteries manifest. Come:
still tongue and be sure--
noise, discord's tongue
that bays within its bell,
opposes wisely dumb
with witless, cacophonous Hell,
opposes beauty pure
with restless voices that swell
tumultuous. Upon that shore
of silence holy break
wave idolatrous, impure
to bid dreamer awake
out of solacing dream--
oneiromantic shape--
silence's reverie. Deem
this discord nothing of accord
and know, upwards, the stream
of wisdom will cleanse, its chord
breathless and airless, a reverie
of meanings no word has stored,
its heart a silent mystery.