ROSA IGNOTA
To softest sleep
In the scented west
In the moonlight deep
His ear is pressed
To the earth, who wanders,
Unseen, alone;
Who dreams and ponders,
Whose face is stone,
Carven by thought :
He unveils the skies,
And the star-dreams wrought
By his frozen eyes
Take shape and stand
In his argent dream ;
And the old gray land
And the swift gray stream
Glitter and gleam.
The silver wonder
Of silent stars,
The silent thunder
Of sunset’s bars,
The crimson flare
In the ashes of day,
Are everywhere
On the secret way:
Under the hill
The clamouring gnomes,
For a moment still
In their darkened homes,
Hear the deep night,