I the deep violet air, <br />Not a leaf is stirred; <br />There is no sound heard, <br />But afar, the rare <br />Trilled voice of a bird. <br /> <br />Is the wood's dim heart, <br />And the fragrant pine, <br />Incense, and a shrine <br />Of her coming. Apart, <br />I wait for a sign. <br /> <br />What the sudden hush said, <br />She will hear, and forsake, <br />Swift, for my sake, <br />Her green, grassy bed: <br />She will hear and awake! <br /> <br />She will hearken and glide, <br />From her place of deep rest, <br />Dove-eyed, with the breast <br />Of a dove, to my side: <br />The pines bow their crest. <br /> <br />I wait for a sign: <br />The leaves to be waved, <br />The tall tree-tops laved <br />In a flood of sunshine, <br />This world to be saved! <br /> <br />In the deep violet air, <br />Not a leaf is stirred; <br />There is no sound heard, <br />But afar, the rare <br />Trilled voice of a bird.<br /><br />Ernest Christopher Dowson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/chanson-sans-paroles/
