D.H. Lawrence (1885–1930). Amores. 1916.
34. Silence
S
Sounds wave their little wings
A moment, then in weariness settle
On the flood that soundless swings.
Like pattering ripples go by,
Or whether the theatre sighs and sighs
With a loud, hoarse sigh:
Over the dead-black river,
Or night’s last echoing
Makes the daybreak shiver:
To take them all up again
In its vast completeness, enfolding
The sound of men.