THE MIGHT that shaped itself through storm and stress
In chaos, here is lulled in breathing sweet;
Under the long brown ridge in gentleness
    Its fierce old pulses beat.
 

Quiet and sad we go at eve; the fire
That woke exultant in an earlier day
Is dead; the memories of old desire
    Only in shadows play.
 

We liken love to this and that; our thought
The echo of a deeper being seems:
We kiss, because God once for beauty sought
    Within a world of dreams.

Added: May 12 2003 | Viewed: 1806 times | Comments (0)

Poet: George William Russell
Poem: 12. 12. Echoes
Volume: Collected Poems by A.E.
Year: Published/Written in 1913
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