Xviii

This I say of me, but think of you, Love! This to you--yourself my moon of poets! Ah, but that 's the world's side, there 's the wonder, Thus they see you, praise you, think they know you! There, in turn I stand with them and praise you-- Out of my own self, I dare to phrase it. But the best is when I glide from out them, Cross a step or two of dubious twilight, Come out on the other side, the novel Silent silver lights and darks undreamed of, Where I hush and bless myself with silence.