Words

Oh words, oh words, and shall you rule The world? What is it but the tongue That doth proclaim a man a fool, So that his best songs go unsung, So that his dreams are sent to school And all die young.

There pass the trav'lling dreams, and these My soul adores--my words condemn-- Oh, I would fall upon my knees To kiss their golden garments' hem, Yet words do lie in wait to seize And murder them.

To-night the swinging stars shall plumb The silence of the sky. And herds Of plumèd winds like huntsmen come To hunt with dreams the restless birds. To-night the moon shall strike you dumb, Oh words, oh words....