Tears

Silence o'erwhelms the melody of Night, Then slowly drips on to the woods that sigh For their past vivid vernal ecstasy. The branches and the leaves let in the light In patterns, woven 'gainst the paler sky - Create mysterious Gothic tracery, Between those high dark pillars,- that affright Poor weary mortals who are wand'ring by. Silence drips on the woods like sad faint rain, Making each frail tired sigh, a sob of pain Each drop that falls, a hollow painted tear Such as are shed by Pierrots, when they fear Black clouds may crush their silver lord to death. The world is waxen; and the wind's least breath Would make a hurricane of sound. The earth Smells of the hoarded sunlight that gave birth To the gold-glowing radiance of that leaf, Which falls to bury from our sight its grief.