LISTEN, whence come these chords!
The mighty east blossoms and now is red,
And now the strings of the great harp of light
Are laid across the world, and what was dead
Now newly wakes and sings.

We cannot hear the music where it rings;
We cannot know the words;
But on the sea of harmony there floats,
Forever listening, one who heard the notes
And bore them in his breast
To the sad hearts of men.

Down the far west,
Beyond the space where late the night-bird wings,
Has sunk the leader of our harmonies.
The gardens of the blest
Must vibrate now to antique melodies,
Since he is hither sped;
He heard them in the morning of the world,
And brought them to us down the centuries.

What stillness of the earth now he is gone
And this brief day is done!
Staying our feet,
That fain would follow him,
Stands Silence with veiled head;
The inarticulate pines
Still give their sacred signs,
But far away and dim
Their meaning lies,
And he is dead,
The master and interpreter.