Thousands of thousands of hushed years ago, <br />Out on the edge of Chaos, all alone <br />I stood on peaks of vapor, high upthrown <br />Above a sea that knew nor ebb nor flow, <br />Nor any motion won of winds that blow, <br />Nor any sound of watery wail or moan, <br />Nor lisp of wave, nor wandering undertone <br />Of any tide lost in the night below. <br />So still it was, I mind me, as I laid <br />My thirsty ear against mine own faint sigh <br />To drink of that, I sipped it, half afraid <br />'Twas but the ghost of a dead voice spilled by <br />The one starved star that tottered through the shade <br />And came tiptoeing toward me down the sky.<br /><br />James Whitcomb Riley<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/silence-352/
