The Sound Within
WITHOUT misgiving, to be lest A. mile above the plain, . . Enveloped in a mountain mist, And the day dying.
Each berry of the rowan tree With ghostly globe attached, Strange binary to greet the eye As the night approached.
Soundless, sightless, in the height, Creatures of space we stood,.
Defiant of the drums of fate Patrolling through our blood. .