WORDS

Oh words, oh words, and shall you rule

The world? What is it but the tongue

That doth proclaim a man a fool,

So that his best songs go unsung,

So that his dreams are sent to school

And all die young.

There pass the trav'lling dreams, and these

My soul adores — my words condemn —

Oh, I would fall upon my knees

To kiss their golden garments’ hem,

Yet words do lie in wait to seize

And murder them.

To-night the swinging stars shall plumb

The silence of the sky. And herds

Of plumèd winds like huntsmen come

To hunt with dreams the restless birds.

To-night the moon shall strike you dumb,

Oh words, oh words....