THE hush of silver and the song of gold,

Enwound upon the midnight's axle, sway

The tide less heart, where centuries untold

Are fashioned to the swiftness of a day.

A silent dancer on the moving wave

Goes ankleted with silver of the night:

A rose-crowned singer of a sky-borne stave

Climbs goldenly the summit of delight;

Far poised upon the mountain-top of noon,

Thou signet felt by Form-enshrining mood,-

Or, deep-indrawn, beneath some midnight moon

A dream-dance weaved by silver solitude.