Quiet

Only the footprints of the partridge run
    Over the billowy drifts on the mountain-side;
    And now on level wings the brown birds glide
    Following the snowy curves, and in the sun
    Bright birds of gold above the stainless white
    They move, and as the pale blue shadows move,
    With them my heart glides on in golden flight
    Over the hills of quiet to my love.

    Storm-shaken, racked with terror through the long
    Tempestuous night, in the quiet blue of morn
    Love drinks the crystal airs, and peace newborn
    Within his troubled heart, on wings aglow
    Soars into rapture, as from the quiet snow
    The golden birds; and out of silence, song.