THE MIGHT that shaped itself through storm and stress <br />In chaos, here is lulled in breathing sweet; <br />Under the long brown ridge in gentleness <br />Its fierce old pulses beat. <br /> <br /> <br />Quiet and sad we go at eve; the fire <br />That woke exultant in an earlier day <br />Is dead; the memories of old desire <br />Only in shadows play. <br /> <br /> <br />We liken love to this and that; our thought <br />The echo of a deeper being seems: <br />We kiss, because God once for beauty sought <br />Within a world of dreams.<br /><br />George William Russell<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/echoes-45/
