Be still, be still, vex not the night with sound,
The moon has laid her finger on the lake,
And in the shadows of the wood profound
There lies a peace we would profane to break.
Upon the lonely avenue of trees,
As pearls upon an airy silver string,
Are caught the threaded echoes of the breeze
That sets the ruffled leaves a-murmuring.
Be still, dear heart, as though‘ twere death to speak.
Love waits you, lily-like, with leaves unfurled,
While on the breast of day night lays her cheek,
The silence speaks the secret of the world.