Prayer by George William Russell
LET us leave our island woods grown dim and blue;
Oâ€™er the waters creeping the pearl dust of the eve
Hides the silver of the long wave rippling through:
The chill for the warm room let us leave.
Turn the lamp down low and draw the curtain wide,
So the greyness of the starlight bathes the room;
Let us see the giant face of night outside,
Though vague as a mothâ€™s wing is the gloom.
Rumour of the fierce-pulsed city far away
Breaks upon the peace that aureoles our rest,
Steeped in stillness as if some primeval day
Hung drowsily oâ€™er the waterâ€™s breast.
Shut the eyes that flame and hush the heart that burns:
In quiet we may hear the old primeval cry:
God gives wisdom to the spirit that upturns:
Let us adore now, you and I.
Age on age is heaped about us as we hear:
Cycles hurry to and fro with giant tread
From the deep unto the deep: but do not fear,
For the soul unhearing them is dead.