Stillness

When the words rustle no more, And the last work's done, When the bolt lies deep in the door, And Fire, our Sun, Falls on the dark-laned meadows of the floor; When from the clock's last time to the next chime Silence beats his drum, And Space with gaunt grey eyes and her brother Time Wheeling and whispering come, She with the mould of form and he with the loom of rhyme, Then twittering out in the night my thought-birds flee, I am emptied of all my dreams: I only hear Earth turning, only see Ether's long bankless streams, And only know I should drown if you Laid not your hand on me.