Evening on the Mountain

THOU, unhorizoned as eternity,
Yet of time’s rounded hour thy mirror making;
Thy heart the sun, thy hand the gathering sea,
Yet in a flower thine ample lodging taking;
Thou who dost vein the marble and the leaf,
Mak’st thought and dream shine through the jungle’s scarring,
Till from a scented reed, as summer brief,
Man breathes the forest some dim star is wearing; —
These are thy shadows; here I strip me free
Of myths and days, of grieving and of fearing;
Tatters of fame, and love that bannered me; —
Here bare me as the moonlight, only hearing,
As in thy music, universes flow,
And even as music to thy silence go.