When the words rustle no more, <br />And the last work's done, <br />When the bolt lies deep in the door, <br />And Fire, our Sun, <br />Falls on the dark-laned meadows of the floor; <br /> <br />When from the clock's last time to the next chime <br />Silence beats his drum, <br />And Space with gaunt grey eyes and her brother Time <br />Wheeling and whispering come, <br />She with the mould of form and he with the loom of rhyme, <br /> <br />Then twittering out in the night my thought-birds flee, <br />I am emptied of all my dreams: <br />I only hear Earth turning, only see <br />Ether's long bankless streams, <br />And only know I should drown if you <br />Laid not your hand on me.<br /><br />James Elroy Flecker<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/stillness-18/
