Let us be quiet now; let all the voice
Be of calm waters, while the silence singe,
Like a vast rumour of unheard-of things
That know not grief, nor dream how men rejoice.

The low hills love the silence; in the haze
They dream of what the sea is murmuring
In dim reverberance—some hidden thing
The sea learns from its heavenward endless gaze.

These things hold perfect knowledge: lo! The sea,
The hills all satisfied for ever; lo!
The full sun seeth, and the great winds know;
And these things are, while we but strive to be.