Classic Poem

The white light of a cloud is in your face,
Bell tones of wind and water brooding there;
And the hushed colour of your quiet hair
Reflects a tranquil and interior grace.

I strain towards you out of the dust and heat;
The eagle has his crag below the sun;
The diver climbs to breath; the fox's run
Is finished. . . . I am hallowed at your feet.

It is for ever enough so to have found
Silent, unaltered as the Saviour's Well,
Peace that is deep and inexhaustible,
Touch without contact, syllable without sound.