Page:Southern Life in Southern Literature.djvu/442

424 Designs on the night of our knowledge, yea, ye have taught me, So, That haply we know somewhat more than we know. Ye lispers, whisperers, singers in storms, Ye consciences murmuring faiths under forms, Ye ministers meet for each passion that grieves, Friendly, sisterly, sweetheart leaves, Oh, rain me down from your darks that contain me Wisdoms ye winnow from winds that pain me, Sift down tremors of sweet-within-sweet That advise me of more than they bring, repeat Me the woods-smell that swiftly but now brought breath From the heaven-side bank of the river of death, Teach me the terms of silence, preach me The passion of patience, sift me, impeach me, And there, oh there As ye hang with your myriad palms upturned in the air, Pray me a myriad prayer. My gossip, the owl, is it thou That out of the leaves of the low-hanging bough, As I pass to the beach, art stirred? Dumb woods, have ye uttered a bird? Reverend Marsh, low-couched along the sea, Old chemist, rapt in alchemy, Distilling silence, lo, That which our father-age had died to know The menstruum that dissolves all matter thou Hast found it: for this silence, filling now The globed clarity of receiving space, This solves us all: man, matter, doubt, disgrace,