Frederick Shea Jesson

QUIETNESS over my spirit, like

The shadows of an old dead town:

Grass between the flagstone-walks,

Yellow houses fading to brown,

Lawns and streets growing to weeds and dust,

And the intolerable rust

Of barren souls.

Beyond the reach of time,

Last year’s leaves have covered all the lawns.

The piercing beauty of many dawns

Strikes at the day;

Yet old stone walls and empty garden-pools

Have a stale odor of gradual decay.

This is the quietness of an old dog’s nose—

Not too much heat,

Sometimes a chill that through the garden goes:

Eternal beauty fading in

An agony of uncommitted sin.