by Robert Laurence Binyon
Silences in the mind, the haunting Silences,
Silences daunting,
Chill as a cavern's air, immuring hollow gloom
Yet inly luring
Like springs that ooze there, glidings from the stone:
What strange, dark tidings
You brim with! First, the doubted certainties,
Then fancies routed
By a spectral whisper from unstable worlds
That turns to fable
Accepted hope and fever of desires;
A whispered Never,
Out of a vapour clothing from afar
All things in Nothing.
Last updated January 14, 2019