I know a green grass path that leaves the field, <br />And like a running river, winds along <br />Into a leafy wood where is no throng <br />Of birds at noon-day, and no soft throats yield <br />Their music to the moon. The place is sealed, <br />An unclaimed sovereignty of voiceless song, <br />And all the unravished silences belong <br />To some sweet singer lost or unrevealed. <br />So is my soul become a silent place. <br />Oh, may I wake from this uneasy night <br />To find a voice of music manifold. <br />Let it be shape of sorrow with wan face, <br />Or Love that swoons on sleep, or else delight <br />That is as wide-eyed as a marigold.<br /><br />Lord Alfred Douglas<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-green-river/
