Eva Gore-Booth


Amid the glare of light and song
   And talk that knows not when to cease,   
The sullen voices of the throng,
   My weary soul cries out for peace,   
Peace and the quietness of death;
   The wash of waters deep and cool,   
The wind too faint for any breath
   To stir oblivionís silent pool,
When all who swim against the stream,
   And they that laugh, and they that weep,   
Shall change like flowers in a dream
   That wither on the brows of sleep.

For silence is the song sublime,
   And every voice at last must cease,   
And all the world at evening time
   Floats downwards through the gates of peace,   
Beyond the gloom of shadowy caves
   Where water washes on the stones,   
And breaks with quiet foamless waves
   The nightís persistent monotones;   
The stars are what the flowers seem,
   And where the sea of thought is deep,   
The moonlight glitters like a dream,
   On weary waters gone to sleep.

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