Moonlight bends over the black silence,
Making it bloom to wild-flowers of sound
That only green things can hear.
A wind sprawls over an orchard,
Frightening its silent litany to sound.
A thread of star-light has fallen to this tree
And curls among its leaves, tangling them to silence. . . .
Standing amidst these things, Beloved,
We feel the words our hearts cannot form.
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