THE MESSAGE

“Oh, hush!” you said; “oh, hush!” The twilight hung

Between us and the world; but in your face,

Flooding with warm inner light, the sovereign grace

Of one who rests the brooding trees among —

Of one who steps down from a lofty throne,

Seeking that peace the sceptre cannot call;

And leaving courtier, page, and seneschal,

Goes down the lane of sycamores alone;

And, going, listens to the notes that swell

From golden throats — stories of ardent days,

And lovers in fair vales; and homing bell:

And the sweet theme unbearable, she prays

The song-bird cease! So, on the tale I dare,

Your “hush!” your wistful “hush!” broke like prayer.