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| LET us leave our island woods grown dim and blue; | |
| O’er the waters creeping the pearl dust of the eve | |
| Hides the silver of the long wave rippling through: | |
| The chill for the warm room let us leave. | |
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| Turn the lamp down low and draw the curtain wide, | 5 |
| So the greyness of the starlight bathes the room; | |
| Let us see the giant face of night outside, | |
| Though vague as a moth’s wing is the gloom. | |
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| Rumour of the fierce-pulsed city far away | |
| Breaks upon the peace that aureoles our rest, | 10 |
| Steeped in stillness as if some primeval day | |
| Hung drowsily o’er the water’s breast. | |
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| Shut the eyes that flame and hush the heart that burns: | |
| In quiet we may hear the old primeval cry: | |
| God gives wisdom to the spirit that upturns: | 15 |
| Let us adore now, you and I. | |
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| Age on age is heaped about us as we hear: | |
| Cycles hurry to and fro with giant tread | |
| From the deep unto the deep: but do not fear, | |
| For the soul unhearing them is dead. | 20 |
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