Lovers' Lane

This cool quiet of trees
    In the grey dusk of the north,
    In the green half-dusk of the west,
    Where fires still glow;
    These glimmering fantasies
    Of foliage branching forth
    And drooping into rest;
    Ye lovers, know
    That in your wanderings
    Beneath this arching brake
    Ye must attune your love
    To hushed words.
    For here is the dreaming wisdom of
    The unmovable things...
    And more: - walk softly, lest ye wake
    A thousand sleeping birds.