Silencium

	Silence and sleep like fields of amaranth lie
	Very old are the woods
	And the buds that break out of the briers boughs
	When March winds wake
	So old with their beauty are
	Oh no man knows through what wild centuries
	Roves back the rose
	Very old are the brooks
	And the rills that rise
	Where snow sleeps cold beneath the azure skies
	Sing such a history of come and gone
	We wake and whisper a while
	But the day gone by
	Very old are we men
	Our dreams are tales told in dim Eden
	By Eve's nightingales.