Oh words, oh words, and shall you rule
The world? What is it but the tongue
That doth proclaim a man a fool,
So that his best songs go unsung,
So that his dreams are sent to school
And all die young.
There pass the trav'lling dreams, and these
My soul adores — my words condemn —
Oh, I would fall upon my knees
To kiss their golden garments’ hem,
Yet words do lie in wait to seize
And murder them.
To-night the swinging stars shall plumb
The silence of the sky. And herds
Of plumèd winds like huntsmen come
To hunt with dreams the restless birds.
To-night the moon shall strike you dumb,
Oh words, oh words....