The host of hills encamped around,
The sleepless army of the stars,
And no clock striking, nor dog barking,
While hours pass.
Low liquid trill of bird to bird,
Sleepers’ breathing, and long sigh –
But no lamp winking, nor fire flickering
In earth or sky.
Bush noises stir, but silence brims;
Into this pool few pebbles fall –
And the earth tilting, and the sphere turning
Over it all.
So still that (God forgive me) seem
Of little weight the wrongs men do,
That men are dying and women weeping
The world through;
That Earth’s a fester, full of ills,
Peopled by a poisoned race;
That wars are waging, and my love sleeping
In a far place.