Hush, true Love, as we sit and think
And talk to shadows and watch the coals
Redden up from beyond the brink
Of the common reach of our souls.
Do you not catch a cry in the air?
No! That is the wind in the chimney calling!
That is a curtain fluttering there!
That is a dead branch falling!
Burning wood when candles are lit
Has a bitter-sweet breath that can carry far;
That can carry two lovers from where they sit
To the edge of the sea and over it
Where the unknown islands are.
Burning wood has a wizard spell
Full of old sad stories and long-dead things;
Like myrrh and cassia is that smell,
From the sepulchres of kings.
And whenever lovers like you and me
Sit together of a winter’s night,
There’s a cry on the wind, there’s a cry on the sea
There’s a tongue in the candlelight.
And a great host gathers out of the dark
From wild far places, from sunk sea-walls,
From fallen roofs where hyænas bark
From ruined tents and kraals.
It gathers towards us while you and I
Talk to old shadows and sit and stare,
And let time and space and the world go by
Like smoke upon the air.
And as we gaze at the reddening coals
Lost in that amorous host are we;
That vast procession of lovers’ souls
Drowns our identity.
A procession, divided like Plato’s dream,
But rushing together on a winter’s night,
When the casement shakes and the red coals gleam
And we kiss by candle light!