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Normale Version: Divinity
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Divinity


My silences are not my own, for lo
Thy speech is in them always; I abide
In waiting for thee, as the eventide
Expects the dew; and that thou art, I know,

And what thou art I know not, but I go
Hearing thy voice always, far and wide,
Strange in its bidding, not to be denied,
Deeper than thought, since thou wilt have it so,

For when my thoughts are silent every one,
Like vanished rain, and all my heart is bare
Of any wistful dream that comes and goes,
Thy speach falls on me subtle as the sun,
And I receive thee as the summer air
Is touched with the slow blooming of the rose.