Only

In the interstices where

The calm exists, the stillest air,

A whisper falls as sweet as prayer–

A single word, as cool and kind

As falling snow, and intertwined

With light the stars have left behind–

A tender word that none can hear

But has it poured into his ear

By whom he loves most as his dear–

This modest word, spoken so low,

Both stops his heart and makes it go

Apace, swift as a river’s flow–

Such a small sound to mortal men,

He thinks–until his dearest then

Calls him ‘Beloved!’ once again