Of shyness or reserve; the day is past

For that, and utter trust has come at last.

Only, when shut alone and safe inside

These four white walls,—hearing no sound except

Our own heart-beatings, silences have crept

Stealthily round us,—as the incoming tide

Quiet and unperceived creeps ever on

Till mound and pebble, rock and reef are gone.

[Pg 45]

Or out on the green hillside, even there

There is a hush, and words and thoughts are still.

For the trees speak, and myriad voices fill

With wondrous echoes all the waiting air.

We listen, and in listening must forget

Our own hearts' murmur, and our spirits' fret;

Even our joys,—thou knowest;—when the air

Is full to overflowing with the sense

Of hope fulfilled and passion's vehemence.

There is no place for words; we do not dare

To break Love's stillness, even though the power

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