| I KNOW a green grass path that leaves the field | |
| And, like a running river, winds along | |
| Into a leafy wood, where is no throng | |
| Of birds at noon-day; and no soft throats yield | |
| Their music to the moon. The place is sealed, | 5 |
| An unclaimed sovereignty of voiceless song, | |
| And all the unravished silences belong | |
| To some sweet singer lost, or unrevealed. | |
| |
| So is my soul become a silent place.... | |
| Oh, may I wake from this uneasy night | 10 |
| To find some voice of music manifold. | |
| Let it be shape of sorrow with wan face | |
| Or love that swoons on sleep, or else delight | |
| That is as wide-eyed as a marigold. | |