Of all the mountain-brooks that wake With upward fling To brush and break the loosening cling Of ice, they shake The air with Spring!
I had not till today been sure, But now I know: Dead youths and maidens come and go Below the lure And undertow
Of cities, under every street Of empty stress, Or heart of an adulteress: Each loud retreat Of lovelessness.
For only by the stir we make In passing near Are we confused, and cannot hear The ways they take Certain and clear.
Today I happened in a place Where all around Was silence; until, underground, I heard a pace, A happy sound.
And people whom I there could see Tenderly smiled, While under a wood of silent, wild Antiquity Wandered a child,
Leading his mother by the hand, Happy and slow, Teaching his mother where to go Under the snow. Not even now I understand— I only know.
Witter Bynner