Ashburnham Woods

Nothing hurts the eye's peace

But a leaf's small trembling:

Only the tree-dew dropping

Plops in the ear's stillness:

Here in this small pause

Life's million wars upon the heart

Let lapse away, release

The grip kept tight about the soul,

That she too may enter on peace.

Now is the pure moment

Of my unquiet residence

In this two yards of clay,

You and I as all:

I in my swamp of hope,

Memory and desire, You

In the pure circle of eternity

And Your circle touches me

And the word of Your touch is love.