Calling the infinite silences nigh.
There I shall rest in the gold and the purple,
Under the clouds with the moon peeping through,
I shall not wake at the stir of the grasses,
I shall not wake at the fall of the dew.
I shall awake when the bell-throated veery
Calls from his castle to welcome the sun,
Or, it may be from the glance and the glitter,
Brewed in the marshes and over me spun.
I shall arise when the elm-branches rustle,