I A SILENT world, yet full of vital joy Uttered in movements manifold, and swift Clear smiles that flashed across the face of things Like sudden sunbeams of divine delight, A world of many sorrows too, made known In fading flowers, and withering leaves, and dark Tear-laden clouds, and tearless, clinging mists For her The hidden doors of sound were shut and sealed. The outer portals, delicate as shells, Suffused with faintest rose of far-off morn, Like underglow of daybreak in the sea, - Shaded by drooping tendrils of brown hair, That questioned so they almost seemed to speak, And answered so they almost seemed to hear,Only with silent eyes did she behold The inarticulate wonder of the world. She saw the great wind ranging freely down And tossing boughs and bending tree-tops hailed Of poplars or of birches, followed him: He passed; they waved their arms and clapped their hands; But all was still. The torrents from the hills Leaped down their rocky stairways, like wild steeds Breaking the yoke and shaking manes of foam. The lowland brooks coiled smoothly through the fields, And softly spread themselves in glistening lakes In the swift rapids, curled upon themselves, And creeping in through creeks with swirling tides And eddies. Yet from all the ceaseless flow Came neither shout of joy nor sob of grief, Silent the actors all on Nature's stage Performed their parts before her watchful eyes, Coming and going, making war and love, Working and playing, all without a sound. The oxen drew their load with swaying necks, The kine came sauntering home along the lane, The trooping sheep were driven from field to fold, In mute obedience. The hounds, with tongues, Down the unseen track panting sides and lolling Pursued their flying prey with noiseless haste. Found mates, and built their nests, and reared their young, And waged their mimic strifes, and flashed athwart Dark avenues of shade as sparks of light, All these were Vera's playmates, and she loved To watch them, wondering oftentimes how well They knew their parts, and how the drama moved So swiftly, smoothly on from scene to scene Without confusion. But she sometimes dreamed There must be something hidden in the play Unknown to her, an utterance of life More clear than action and more deep than looks. And this she felt most surely when she watched Her human comrades and the throngs of men. They met and parted oft with moving lips That seemed to mean far more than she could see. No deed of anger or of tenderness Could bring such sudden changes to the face, As those same dumbly-moving lips. She saw With moving lips, and, though he touched her not, Her cheeks bloomed roses and her eyes flashed light. She saw a hater stand before his foe And move his lips; whereat the other shrank |