THIS perfect love can find no words to say. br What words are left, still sacred for our use, br That have not suffered the sad world's abuse, br And figure forth a gladness dimmed and gray? br Let us be silent still, since words convey br But shadowed images, wherein we lose br The fulness of love's light; our lips refuse br The fluent commonplace of yesterday. br br br Then shall we hear beneath the brooding wing br Of silence what abiding voices sleep, br The primal notes of nature, that outring br Man's little noises, warble he or weep, br The song the morning stars together sing, br The sound of deep that calleth unto deep.