You, bright star, upon whose beams the lower heavens hang,
lure all love and kindness into frame,
and cure all night of dark and sorrow’s song
with gentle breath exhaling nature’s secret name.
I hear your call and bathe in those softer passions
so strangely awakened by your whispered calm.
As the essayer says: you convert my furies into muses;
I take up my bed and walk.
Silence and sound stir ‘round this soul
and nothing uplifts the heart like your quiet light
and rhythmic images of the invisible:
I hear your call and frame your unspoken name.